


Snippets From Dimension HF002

by PorkChop



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Art, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Romantic Fluff, Snippets, Wet & Messy, oc ricks - Freeform, rickcest - Freeform, rickcon, sploshing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-09-22 21:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 96,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17067698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorkChop/pseuds/PorkChop
Summary: This is a 'masterpost' of sorts for my OC Ricks, Tailor Rick and Ice Cream Rick. These stories have been posted over on tumblr over a period of months and it follows the same dimension, HF002, and thus the same Reader insert character. Some of the fics in this story have been posted here before, but after tumblr went crazy and stopped being a reliable place to find works, I have decided to make things easier and post ALL of my fics involving my OC Ricks in one place. I'll try and post them in vaguely chronological order, but these are mostly just snippets of random moments!





	1. Introduction

So here are my OC Ricks!

We have Ice Cream Rick. He's on the nicer end of the Rick spectrum. A few things about him:

\- He travels from dimension to dimension in his ice cream truck!

\- He doesn't drink much, he doesn't really care for the bitter taste of alcohol.

\- He has a sploshing fetish, or wet and messy play. He loves bringing food into the bedroom.

\- He actually gets along well with his Morty and isn't an asshole to him! 

 

And we have Tailor Rick! Some info on him;

\- He is of course a tailor, and he is British!

\- He's a snobby asshole who tries to only associate with those he deems socially respectable enough.

\- He only gets it on with other Ricks, and he has his reasons for that.

\- His Morty is his apprentice, and is even more insufferable than his grandpa. 

Art by myself, check out more of my stuff on [Tumblr](https://porkchop-ao3.tumblr.com/) and [Pixiv](https://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=36328090) (for nsfw stuff)


	2. Meeting Tailor (dress fitting)

I wasn't a model. Far from it; I enjoyed cake way too much and didn't have an elegant bone in my body. But I was _different_ , he'd said. Fresh and inspiring, a new muse. The man was intoxicated clearly, I hadn't had a clue who he was until my mother grabbed my arm, digging her nails into my flesh in a not-so-subtle way of saying 'shut up and come with me’, and had informed me that he was Rick Sanchez. Still oblivious, my mother explained that he was the most successful tailor in the London, he had waiting lists for _years_ to commission a dress from him, and if I didn't accept his request to work with me she'd disown me. Of course, I'd gone along with it, I hadn't had much of a choice. Just like I hadn't had much of a choice to attend that poncy ball in the first place; my parents had dragged me along, insisting it'd do me good to converse with more educated, cultured people, in other words they were hoping they'd find someone to marry me off to. 

But Mr Sanchez had given me his business card, a date and time scrawled on the back, and I was expected to be there, _on time_. I'd done some research on him in preparation. I'd discovered that he was a rather difficult man, but a genius at that. He was teeming with bad habits; namely a concerning affinity for alcohol, an overall aura of rudeness and disdain and a tendency get bored and scrap projects at the drop of a hat. Nevertheless, he was a huge name on the fashion scene, and had worked for a-list clients as well as the just plain wildly rich. I didn't know what I was expecting when I turned up at the address I'd been given; Mr Sanchez hadn't mentioned anything about what he'd expected from me. So I went along in a casual yet pretty dress, hoping that it would be the right sort of attire for whatever it is he wanted with me. 

“I'll be honest with you.” Mr Sanchez had said after an assistant had let me into the large, renovated warehouse that was overflowing with opulence, and had led me through to where he was sat sketching away at what appeared to be new designs. “I-I haven't got a clue who you are, but I know that I have this precise time written down in m-my planner so I must've wanted you for some reason.” 

“Oh.” I squeaked, looking around the imposing room with extremely high ceilings, large windows that looked out over the city, and minimalist, yet industrial style furnishing. In the center of the room there was a pedestal surrounded by lights. “You were at my parents’ ball last weekend? My name is (y/n). You said you wanted to work with me, Mr Sanchez.”

“Eugh, _Rick_ , please.” He seemed to whither at my formality before rising to his feet and turning to look at me. He was handsome in a very unconventional kind of way, he had the type of look that screamed 'good in bed’, if that was even possible. His blue-grey hair was slicked back and he was dressed in a deep burgundy velvet suit, a black silk shirt with a pop of loudness in the form of a leopard print tie. It was quite the look, but he made it work. “Would you like a drink?”

“No thank you.” I shook my head, and Rick made his way over to a small bar near the door.

“I-I can't tempt you with a small glass of wine?” He asked, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. I considered his offer, and figured there was no harm.

“Um, okay then. Yes please.” I nodded, and so he opened up a bottle of rosé and pourned me a glass. He approached me slowly and handed me the glass then began to walk around me, eyeing up my body with a look that was analytical and not in any way lascivious. Still, I found myself blushing under the scrutiny. “Hmm. Now I remember; the girl in the 'off the rail’ dress at a supposedly formal event.” He added.

“Excuse me?” I asked, not having it in me to muster a tone anything other than polite. Rick chuckled.

“A shame. You have just the right figure I've been looking for. M-most of the models that come through my door have been looking the same recently; tall, slender, very little definition here.” He said, coming behind me and feeling at my waist, causing me to yelp in surprise. “I'm getting tired of the same canvas, so to speak.”

“So you're saying I'm short and fat, and that's why you want to work with me?” I asked, and Rick breathed out a quiet laugh, letting go of me and coming back around to my front. 

“Petite and… what's the right word? Curvy. D-doesn't it sound better the way I say it?” 

“Marginally.” I scoffed. He ignored me and inhaled deeply, as if inflating himself to appear bigger and better than me.

“I'd like to fit you with one of my new designs. Like I said, it was a shame seeing you totter about in that dull, common, high street excuse of a dress. Y-y-you'd look a lot better in one of mine, I know how to _flatter_ rather than _hide_ the body, and all its extra… curves.” He said slowly, letting his eyes roll back down my body.

“I don't have enough money for one of your dresses, they're a little out of my budget.” I told him, and he seemed offended. 

“I price my clothing fairly. You pay for what you get.” He snapped, and I resisted the urge to raise a brow disbelievingly. “Not that it has any relevance to you, however, since I'd be doing this for you as a gift.”

“Oh my gosh… are you serious?” I gasped, and a satisfied smirk settled on Rick's face. “You don't even know me, why would you do this? Are you… like, the devil, or something? And you'll get my soul in return?” I asked, and he laughed heartily. 

“I wish, sweetheart. But no. I like to do this s-sometimes. For something different. You can only make so much money, my dear, sometimes it's nice to inflate your ego rather than your bank account.” He explained, and I gave him an odd look.

“So, you want to make me a dress for free, so that you can feel good about yourself?” I asked incredulously.

“Correct.” He answered then turned away from me and strode over to his desk, slipping off the red velvet sport jacket he wore as he walked. 

“Well, at least you're honest.” I shrugged.

“Sit with me.” He said, and gestured for me to join him. He pulled out a chair for me before sinking into one of his own, scooting in closer to the desk. I took a seat next to him and sipped at my wine.

“These are some of the garments I've been working on.” He told me, flicking through his sketchbook and pointing out a few of his drawings. They looked incredible, there was a mix of beautiful simplicity and breathtaking attention to fine detail, with close up drawings of beaded sections and hand embroidery. 

“Wow, they're wonderful.” I said. 

“I was thinking s-something like this would work for you.” He said, flicking to a drawing of a knee length dress with a sweetheart neckline, and what appeared to be lace overlaying the bodice. 

“You think that would suit me?” I asked, and he looked up from the book to make eye contact with me. He had these striking pale blue eyes, that for a man of his age and drinking habits, were surprisingly bright.

“Why, do you not?” He asked, and I shrugged dumbly, unsure how to respond. “I-I-I don't get things wrong. If I pick something for you, it's because it will be right.” He said, his tone harsh, causing a little flutter in my chest. I drank more wine, hoping to calm my nerves. 

“Okay then, yes, I think that one is perfect.” I nodded.

“Not perfect. Nothing is perfect…” he trailed off, deep in thought. “I'll need to make some adjustments to the design, b-but leave that with me.” he said, downing his whisky in one go, swallowing it without so much as a wince. He stood up then, gesturing for me to do that same.

“Are you sure you're happy to do this for free? It's… it's a huge-”

“I meant what I said, if you're going to make this difficult you can forget it.” He said stoically, then turned his back on me, tidying up a few things on the workstation close by, littered with scraps of fabric and pattern pieces. “Take your dress off for me.” He ordered, gathering a few items from the drawer in the desk. I froze. 

“I'm sorry?” I asked, and he looked at me over his shoulder. 

“I'd like you to take your dress off for me.” He repeated slowly, looking at me like I was an idiot. “I-I need to take some measurements, sweetheart. Otherwise how am I going to make your dress?”

“Oh. Of course.” I nodded, clearing my throat and glancing around the large room. It wasn't cold at all, but the idea of stripping down to my undies made me shiver. I took a deep breath and downed the wine. Not wanting to make anymore of a fool of myself, I stepped out of my shoes and undid the buttons that lined the front of my bodice, and shimmied out of the dress. I picked it up from the floor, holding it against my chest as I looked around for somewhere to put it. Rick turned and approached me, taking the dress from me with his eyes firmly set on mine. Something in me was expecting him to look at my freshly exposed skin, and when he didn't, I felt an odd sense of disappointment. 

Rick folded my dress up neatly and placed it on his desk, then gestured to the pedestal. “Stand up there, p-please.” He said, and I did as I was told. Something about him giving out these orders to me, no matter the fact that they were simple and innocent enough, made me feel giddy, and to my surprise; aroused. Though, wine had a tendency to act quickly on me, increasing my sex drive in minutes.

Despite the pedestal being only a few inches tall, I still felt incredibly exposed standing up there, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was exciting, invigorating and rather empowering, especially with the huge windows, large enough to give a sense of openness yet high enough that it was unlikely that anyone could actually see inside. Rick wheeled over a small portable desk with a tape measure, a notepad and pencil on it. 

“What did you say your name was?” He asked, his question giving me a feeling of unimportance as well as a curious desire to _be_ important... to him, at least. He jotted it down on the notepad as I answered him, then picked up the tape measure. 

Rick walked around me, finally taking a good look at my body; again, there was a firm sense of professionalism in his gaze. He took my wrist in his hand and loosely guided it outward from my body, then stretched the tape measure from the top of my shoulder, down to my wrist. Then he wrapped it around my upper arm before letting go and jotting down his findings on the notepad. His fingers were light and gentle, barely touching yet leaving sensation lingering wherever they'd been. I watched him carefully as he moved around to my back, bracing one hand between my shoulderblades and the other on my hip, altering my posture. He took some measurements from my back, and when he was writing them down, I felt compelled to fill the silence. 

“So… what made you want to go into dressmaking?” I asked him, and he grunted in response.

“Small talk? I-if you feel awkward standing there half naked, I totally get it. But there's no need to drag me into the awkwardness.” He mumbled, and I laughed quietly. 

“I'm just trying to make conversation.” I shrugged. He turned to me, looking down at my body.

“I didn't. I-I mean, I didn't want to. Not at first anyway.” He explained to me, then closed the gap between us to hold the tape measure at the top of my shoulder, pulling it down over my torso, noting the measurement down to my bust, and then to my waist. Having him so close, I could feel his breath on my chest, and I blushed at the light contact his fingers made with my breasts. Being touched like that by a total stranger, no matter the context, was odd to say the least, and as much as I tried to ignore it, very pleasant. “Dressmaking is something I fell into almost by accident; it was a hobby I picked up in my youth, and I admit it was so that I could have the chance to see pretty ladies like you in their underwear.” He told me unabashedly. I held back a smile at the complement. 

“But that's not the case, now?” I asked, expecting a glorious account of how he fell in love with the art. Though I was surprised.

“No. B-but once you get good at something, and people want more, i-it's hard to escape.” He admitted, and that was all he said on the subject. “How's the temperature in here?” He asked, looking curiously at my chest. I flushed at the realisation that my nipples were hard, and very much visible through my thin silk bra. I certainly wasn't cold, and it was becoming increasingly obvious to me that being scrutinized, measured and observed by this man, was exciting me. And once I accepted that, my arousal only became more and more insistent. 

“It's fine.” I told him, straightening my posture and clearing my throat. Rick wound his arms around my back and under my arms, and brought the tape measure around my waist, and wrote the measurement down. His fingertips brushed over my backside as he wrapped it around the widest point of my hips, and I jumped at the unexpected contact, gaining a quiet chuckle from Rick. The low, rumbling sound of it rose goosebumps on my arms, and suddenly the room felt heavy with sexual tension. I was probably imagining it all, since I hadn't been with a man in quite a while, but to me, it was very real. 

Those deft fingers of his brought the tape up around my bust, the subtle shifting of it against my nipples as he adjusted it stimulated me more than anything had in a long while, and I was shocked at how sensitive I was feeling. Rick seemed to hover on this measurement for longer than the rest, but still too soon, he was dropping the tape and turning back to his notepad. 

“Step down for me.” He said quietly, and so I did. He hung the tape measure around my neck, and gently untucked my hair from underneath it, looking me in the eye as he did. I watched his face intently as he measured the circumference of my neck, his expression was completely neutral and unreadable, which again served me only disappointment. I was becoming attracted to this man, for reasons unknown to me, and I found myself staring at his lips and imagining what they'd feel like against mine. “Hold this.” He said, snapping me back to reality and holding up the end of the tape measure for me, dropping down my body to the floor to measure my height once I'd taken it from him. Once he'd done that, he thanked me and pushed his portable desk back over to where it belonged. He moved over to his main desk, shuffling things around and making notes here and there, flicking through his sketchbook. I simply stood there like an idiot.

“Should I get dressed?” I asked. 

“I'm f-finished taking my measurements. So unless you _like_ standing around in your knickers, then yes, you should get dressed.” He said dryly. Feeling weak, I made my way over to where my dress sat, startled to find that my labia felt slick as I walked, and I got angry at my body for becoming so inadvertently turned on. I really must've been desperate for a lay… “I will send you the dress when it's done. N-no need to send anything in return, unless there is a problem, in which case do not hesitate to get in touch. My assistant will take your details on your way out.” He said formally, and with finality. 

“Okay… so, is… is that it?” I asked once I'd dressed myself. “You're not going to ask me what colours or fabric I like?” 

“No. That's it. I trust myself enough to make something appropriate.” He simply said, his back to me. “I'd appreciate it if you showed me that same level of trust, my dear.” 

“No, of course. I… trust you.” I nodded, licking my lips and rocking back on my heels. “Am I not going to see you again?”

“Unless there is a problem with the garment, which I very highly doubt there will be, then there will be no need.” He said, his voice strained with irritation, it was clear I had outstayed my welcome. 

“I see.” I nodded, turning to the door. I took a few steps, then hesitated and turned back around. “I don't suppose that you'd be interested in-”

“Going for a drink?” He assumed with a long suffering expression on his face as he turned to look at me. “No. I would not. Wh-why do they always ask that?”

“I'm sorry.” I mumbled, looking down.

“Nevermind. You should know that I maintain a strictly professional relationship with all of my clients. I may have started this whole show being led by my libido, but I'm certainly not interested in such endeavors now. If you get turned on by me taking a couple of measurements then that's your issue, and you should probably go out and get some dick, but do not expect any from me.” He grumbled, and I raised my brows in surprise.

“Okay!” I said defensively. “Got it. A simple 'no’ would've been fine.” I sighed, flushed with embarrassment.

“The dress will be ready in no more than two weeks.” He said.

“Thank you.” I said, waiting for something else, hoping he'd have a change of heart. Of course, I was once again bitterly disappointed. And so, with a few parting words, I let myself out. “This is very kind of you, Rick. It was very nice to meet you.” I said, gaining a disinterested grunt in response. 

One week later I received a package in the mail. Neatly wrapped up in a garment bag inside a white box, was my new dress. A lovely emerald green silk piece with black lace, that flared out at the waist and hit just above my knee. It was the only thing inside the box; no note or anything. But it smelled like whiskey and spice, a scent that tugged at memories of my time in Rick’s studio, and I inhaled deeply inside the box. There was something about Rick Sanchez, and I wondered if all the other women he'd worked with, fell a tiny bit in love with him too.


	3. Meeting I.C (Rickcon'18)

“Absolute bloody pricks.” Rick muttered, inspecting the cuff on my arm with a clear expression of distaste. “Th-that ruins the whole ensemble.” 

The stylist who had been applying my eyeshadow turned away momentarily and I took the opportunity to look down at the cuff for myself. While the wristband didn't do my outfit any favors, I wouldn't go as far as to say it was ruined. I read the neon code once more; HF-002, and tried to swallow down the sensation of disbelief. I hadn't had an awful lot of time to adjust, it'd been months since I'd heard from Rick Sanchez after receiving my custom gown in the mail, and suddenly I was here. In some strange place away from earth, entirely populated by Ricks and Mortys. I hadn't been expecting to hear from Rick ever again, but when a letter slipped through my door requesting that I visit him at my earliest convenience, I'd been too curious to ignore it. 

That's how I found myself at RickCon. Apparently, Rick hosted a number of events at the convention, including a charity clothing auction to raise money for… trunk people in need? I'd quickly learned that he was a very generous person, though only for his own benefit. When I first met him, he'd gifted me a one of a kind, custom made dress worth thousands, purely so that he could feel good about himself. He'd made no attempt to hide that the charity auction was no different. Anyway, he needed models, and for some reason he thought I'd be suitable. I'd laughed in his face at first, but when he explained the citadel to me; infinite realities and alternate versions of him all gathering in one place, I had to see it for myself. 

“I don't understand why they can't just make an exception for _me_. I assume it's because they're jealous, n-not many Rick's make a name for themselves in their original dimension. There's far too much hopping around for my liking.” He continued as the stylist returned to applying my makeup.

“Almost done, sweetie.” the stylist said almost boredly. He was another Rick, dressed in pink with the sides of his head shaved, the rest of his hair swept upwards to make for a particularly striking hairstyle. 

“I-I-I explained to them that this is a _fashion show_. I'm aware that the majority of Rick's wear the same grotty lab coat day in, day out, but surely they understand that _that_.” Tailor Rick pointed accusationally at the wristband. “Is the opposite of fashion!”

“Relax! It looks fine. Nobody will even care and anyway, this is for the uh, the… what are they? The trunk people.” I said, trying to move my face as little as possible as to not disrupt the stylist. 

“Oh, right.” He scoffed. “Of course, the trunk people.” I didn't need to see him know he was rolling his eyes. 

“All done.” The stylist said, leaning back and giving me a once over.

“Finally. W-we have about five minutes until we're starting. Cutting it a little fine, aren't we?” Rick said, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the stylist. 

“I'll have you know I'm the president's personal stylist. If you want the kind of perfectionism I deliver, you need to give me more than half an hour.” The stylist quipped, turning his back on the other Rick as he bent over to gather the various brushes and makeup products on his desk. I glanced over to the tailor, raising my brows when I caught him checking out the ass on his alternate self. 

“You shouldn't need more than half an hour to paint some slap on her face. The real time consumer is teaching her how to walk, since her parents clearly didn't do a very good job-”

“Oi! I can walk just fine when I'm not tottering around on stilts!” I said defensively.

“Stilts? They're mere kitten heels.” He scoffed. I very nearly growled. My initial attraction to him had quickly disappeared with prolonged contact, at this point I couldn't understand how he'd made me so wet and flustered throughout that dress fitting. I must've been hormonal… or something. “Anyway, get up, we're starting soon.”

I rose to my feet, straightening out the dress I was wearing. I had another six lined up for me to change into throughout the course of the auction, and two Ricks lined up to help me do so. The gown I was going out in first was a lovely, deep burgundy cocktail dress. I'd questioned Rick about why he thought it was a good idea to try and flog cocktail dresses to a room full of men. Initially, he'd reminded me that it was also a room full of alcoholics, and they'd pay attention to anything with the word cocktail in it. Or course, that was his idea of a joke and the real reason was that apparently there wasn't just going to be Ricks at this convention. They often brought along any significant others they had, and some just happened to be women. 

Now that was a comforting concept and definitely gave me another reason to agree to being his model for the afternoon. At least if I was going to a Rick and Morty convention, there would be other people like me attending too, it'd give me some allies once my job was done and I'd have time to explore the convention while Rick hosted his panel; _More than just a lab coat: Style tips for the working Rick_.

“I'm going out there first to introduce the event, your Rick-sistants will send you out on cue.” He told me, taking me by the elbow and guiding me towards the entrance to the stage, where the two Rick's that'd be helping me change were standing, both of them suited up semi-formally, their hair a lot different to Tailor Rick's in that it was spiky, sticking out in all directions. 

“Oh God.” I said as I caught a glimpse through the gap in the temporarily erected wall that separated the dressing area from the main stage. I could see the crowd, and although it was no Royal Albert Hall, it was more people than I was accustomed to standing in front of. “Remind me why you chose me instead of an actual, professional model?”

“For the same reason I chose you to create a dress for. Your figure is…” he trailed off, glancing down at my chest. “You will be appreciated here more than my regular ladies.” He said, and I flushed. 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, most of the audience members ha-have no intention of buying anything.” He said, peaking out at the crowd. “Normally it's the same three Ricks buying anything, and half of the audience disappears once all the women's wear has been sold.” 

“So they're just here to ogle?” I asked, and Rick turned to smirk at me.

“Of course.” He told me. “Apart from those with Sugar Babies in need of gifts.”

“I thought this was a nice thing. You know? For charity.” I frowned, crossing my arms. 

“Oh, but it still is, isn't it? The charity will get their money, the Ricks will get their entertainment. Everyone's a winner.” 

“Except for me.” I pointed out, he turned and looked me directly in the eye.

“Quite the contrary. Now you'll have an opportunity to seek out a Rick who's willing to satisfy your cravings.” He told me, leaving me confused.

“I'm sorry?”

“You have quite the appetite for me, correct? I-I-I seem to recall you were going to ask me on a date after your dress fitting. I'm sorry that my professional ground rules prevent me from accepting, but I'm sure many of the Ricks here will have no such qualms.” He smiled politely, and my face flushed in a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“Appetite? Are you mad? Perhaps when we first met I was taken by your charisma and charm, but let me tell you, my appetite has been more than filled over the past few days of incessant complaining, rudeness and bossiness.” I scolded him, jabbing my finger into his chest. My words seemed to amuse him. 

“It’s time. Carry that boldness with you out on stage, my dear.” He said, and with that, he turned the corner onto the stage, and I heard him addressing the crowd and willing them to settle down. 

It was barely a minute before I was being ushered on stage. I stepped out into the open, momentarily freezing as I scanned the crowd, every face was almost identical, row after row of Ricks. I noticed a couple of other faces too, the occasional Morty, a few Summers here and there, but it was mostly Ricks. Barely a second had passed when I got ahold of myself and walked forwards. Of course, I completely forgot how to walk; well, in the way that Rick had taught me, so I simply strolled and stood at the edge of the stage with my hand clasped behind my back so nobody could see how much they were shaking. My face felt hot under all their eyes, I noticed the leering smirks from the audience members, and noticed how they whispered to each other. I made eye contact with a few of them, gaining a wink from one, and a brow wiggle from another. I found myself giggling, enjoying the attention despite the initial nerves.

Before I knew it, the dress had been sold, and I was given my cue to leave the stage and get changed. A model Rick took my place on stage, wearing a hot pink suit. I wondered about the kind of Rick that would consider buying such a loud outfit. 

“Quickly, baby. Let's get you out of th-that dress.” One of the Ricks waiting for me said, coming up behind me and unzipping the garment. The other Rick held onto my hand to keep me stable as I stepped out of my shoes. One dress was stripped off of me, and just as quickly another was being shimmied up my hips. I didn't have time to feel exposed, and the two men made me feel more than at ease with their professionalism. 

“Wow, you look fantastic in this one. This oughta fetch a g-good price.” The other told me as he buttoned up the front of it. The Rick behind me was tying up a bow in the back, pulling it taught. I glanced down at the dress, all black silk with white buttons going up the front of the bodice, sleeveless with a boat neck and a ribbon running around my waist. I felt very sophisticated wearing it. 

And fetch a good price it did. Standing out on stage, I felt a little more confident the second time around, and turned from side to side, giving the audience a three-sixty view of the dress. The numbers called out by the auctioneer just went up and up until they were in the thousands, and even though I had no idea what currency was being used, I was surprised at how much people were willing to pay for a single item of clothing. It sold for seven and a half thousand, and Rick was right when he'd said it would be the same few Ricks bidding, I only saw about four different hands going up throughout the whole thing. 

The third dress made me nervous. It was the shortest of them all, hitting at mid thigh; a lot shorter than I would usually go for. It was also practically skin tight, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination; though it had a high neckline and long sleeves, so at least I had some modesty in that department. It was navy blue with a wide white stripe going across the bust. Rick had pointed out to me that it was one of his apprentice's (coincidentally his grandson, Morty's) designs and he was only selling it to get it out of his studio; he preferred a more refined, classy style. 

I noticed his blatant eye roll when I stepped out on stage, and the room roared with wolf whistles and undeniably carnal sounding cheers. He snapped something about _reeling it in, you bunch of animals_ , to the crowd, which was mostly ignored. A Rick in the front row dressed in pastel colours, a bowtie around his neck, stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out an ear piercing whistle, and when I looked at him he blew me a kiss and called out something that sounded Spanish, I caught the phrase _bella dama_ in there somewhere. 

“Thank you, to the gentleman in pink shirt, starting us off at six hundred!” The auctioneer called, and the Rick who'd whistled to me went pale. 

“What the fuck, no! I-I-I didn't!” He quickly stammered, earning a collective howl of laughter from the entire room. 

“I'm sorry, sir, all bids are final. Anyone for seven hundred?” Was the response he got. Not a single hand in the room flew up. 

“Come on! Y-you fucking bunch of assholes, someone wants that! You're just- you're just-” He growled, glancing around the room, a few snickers could be heard. I'd never seen such a large group of people working together just to screw some guy over. It was actually quite impressive. A classic case of cutting one's nose off to spite the face, it was obvious by the dress’s reception that there would otherwise be a bidding war. 

“No? At six hundred, then. Going once, twice…” The auctioneer announced, then the hammer came down. 

“Fuck you guys!” The Rick in pink spat, crossing his arms and slamming his back against the chair. 

“Lighten up, buddy. It's for the trunk people!” Some Rick from the back called through unrestrained laughter. 

“And fuck you especially!” He retorted. I offered him an apologetic smile, feeling somewhat responsible, before I left. 

The rest of the auction went off without a hitch, and once all of the dresses were sold I was left to change back into my own clothes as the designer gear was packaged up ready to be distributed to the buyers at the end of the auction. I was tasked with helping the assistant Ricks with the packaging; each dress was wrapped up in a garment bag inscribed with Tailor Rick's logo, then folded up neatly inside a sturdy, fancy black box with magnetic clasps on the lid, which was again decorated with the logo in silver metallic foil. Also inside the box came a certificate of authenticity and a thank you letter from the charity. Finally, the box was placed inside a gift bag and a note with the dimension number of each buyer was stuck to the side, then it was taken off to a different room ready to be collected and paid for.

I waited around until the end of the auction to see Rick, only for him to bypass me and go straight into a private dressing room. I tried not to feel irritated by this; I didn't have a private dressing room, I'd had to change out in the open with at least three Ricks standing around. When he came back out, he had changed into a more casual suit; something cooler and more stylish than the traditional black and white number he'd been wearing beforehand. This suit was covered in a Paisley pattern, and it was a deep teal colour. Underneath, his shirt was black, as were his shoes and tie. He looked very chic and handsome. He approached me, straightening out his tie and adjusting his collar. 

“You did well out there, aside from the fact you walked like a baby rhinoceros.” He teased, though he was smiling. 

“Bit of an exaggeration.” I pointed out, looking him up and down and feeling extremely dowdy in my jeans and t-shirt. 

“Not at all.” He smirked, then plucked a piece of lint off my shoulder. “I have my other event in an hour, so I'm going to have to stay here to h-help prepare the room. Y-you're free to go, however.” 

“Oh? What shall I do?” I asked stupidly and he held eye contact with me for a moment before answering. 

“Well, you could always go and enjoy the convention.” He suggested with an amused tone. I rolled my eyes. 

“Why didn't I think of that?” I said sarcastically. “I mean, on my own? Just… just walk around this place?” 

“Yes. You're a big girl, aren't you? You're capable of independence?” He raised his brow. 

“Yes, it's just…” I trailed off and chewed the inside of my mouth. “It's a little daunting.”

“You'll be fine. You can't leave without me with you, so if you're worried about some other Rick trying to snatch you away, don't be.” He said all too casually.

“I wasn't worried about that… but I am now.” I furrowed my brow and stared at him, he simply chuckled in response. 

“Go, attend some of the panels, try some of the food, and if you get overwhelmed there are plenty of places for you to go and catch a breather.” He said, taking my shoulders and turning me around to push me towards the exit. 

“Okay, you have your phone with you, right?” 

“Yes. But don't try to contact me.” He said bluntly.

“But what if there's an emergency?” I asked, turning around to face him once he'd got me out the door. 

“Then I suppose that's an exception. But you'd better be dying, otherwise I-I don't want an interruption!” He rolled his eyes again. “Meet me back here in two hours. Have fun. Oh, and I put some money in your purse, g-go wild.” He added flatly, before the door was closed in my face. 

I stared at the frosted glass for a while before taking a deep breath and turning around. 

“Fuck.” I breathed, staring out at the mass of people in front of me, a sea of blue white and yellow with barely anything in between. 

-

I didn't know what else to do, so I followed the crowd. I allowed myself to get swept up in the sea of bodies, treading on toes and getting mine trodden on too. This area definitely seemed clothing-oriented, as I passed stalls selling t-shirts, accessories, and what seemed to be cosplay outfits. I managed to break off from the current to stop at one of the stalls. I browsed through a display of buttons, each one adorned with Rick or Morty based designs, some simply had their faces, some had little quotes or jokes, most of which flew right over my head. I supposed you had to be a Rick… I picked one up with Rick's face on with the words “wubba lubba dub dub”, whatever the hell that meant, and paid the Morty running the stall for it before attaching it to my t-shirt. I figured I should at least be wearing one piece of merchandise, considering I was at RickCon. 

I continued on through the convention center, being stopped once or twice by different Ricks asking if I'd like to exchange dimension codes. It took me until the third time to realise that this was a form of flirting, not just a polite question. I quickly stopped giving out the number on my wristband willy nilly, and prayed that nothing would come of it later. I figured I'd make the most of the strange day, and snapped a few pictures with some of the more unique looking Ricks and Mortys. By the time I'd made it to the food area, my camera was filled with pictures taken with a Rick that appeared to be half lizard, a Rick with two heads (and he'd kindly informed me that it wasn't all he had two of), a Morty holding a bunch of cats, and a teenage Rick with an elderly Morty. 

I decided to grab myself a cup of tea and take a moment to sit down. I (literally) bumped into a Rick with a bowl cut and bucked teeth on my way over to the seating area. He apologised profusely, even though it was my fault. I asked if I could take a picture with him, to which he bashfully agreed, before I let him get on with his day. He was the first mild mannered Rick I'd met all day, and I wanted a photo for proof of his existence so next time Tailor Rick told me it was just in his nature to be rude, I could rub it in his face. 

Sitting alone at a table with my cup of tea gave me plenty of time to people watch. I still hadn't quite wrapped my head around the place, considering I'd only learned about this crazy multidimensional stuff a mere few days ago. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I even fully believed it, I was just going with the flow and ignoring the urge to pinch myself at every new Rick I set eyes on. One was coming right for me, with bulging muscles and a tank top. 

“Wh-what’s up, hot stuff? Saw you at that your lit- your little fashion show.” He said as he approached, taking a seat opposite me and giving me a charming smile. 

“Oh? I thought I recognised you.” I lied, though only out of politeness and because I didn't know what else to say. 

“Couldn't buy anything, of course. None of it'd fit me, you know? Too- too swole.” He said casually, leaning his elbows on the table in a way that accentuated his biceps. I stared for a while, keeping my expression neutral. “I keep telling the guys that run the con; get uh, get some stuff that runs in men's sizes.” He grinned. I laughed, again, mostly out of politeness. 

“So you come every year?” I asked, and he nodded. 

“Yeah. I actually run a panel most years. Health related, obviously. This year's is on protein shakes, I came up with a new formula, i-i-it's vodka flavoured so I figured it'd be more popular this year.” He explained, and I raised my brows. So alcohol abuse wasn't just a Tailor Rick thing. “You should come along, there's gonna be free samples, special offers, and for you, I'll throw in a couple demonstrations.” He winked. 

“Demonstrations?” I questioned. 

“Exercise. I'll uh, I'll be doing push ups and shit, I gotta show that my shakes actually work. Plus they'll be edu-educational. There'll be plenty of tips.”

“Oh…” I chuckled and shook my head. “Do I look like I'm into exercise?” I joked, and Rick looked my body up and down, from what he could see with the table in the way. 

“You look like you've got potential.” He concluded thoughtfully, and I didn't quite know what to make of that. 

“Is this guy bothering you?” A hand came down on the table between us, I trailed my eyes up the sleeve of the lab coat the person was wearing (which I'd quickly realised was a staple piece of most Rick's wardrobes) to find a lady looking down at me, raising her brow.   
“Oh, no, it's-” I started.

“Erica, baby, I didn't think you were coming this year.” Buff Rick exclaimed, gaining an eye roll from this Erica person. 

“I told you I wasn't, I-I-I was hoping I wouldn't bump into you. But uh… here we are.” She sighed. 

“Jesus, you get more and more hostile as you get older.” 

“And you get dumber and dumber, move. Gimme that seat. I need a sit down, my knees are _fucked._ ” She grumbled, and to my surprise she got her way. “All those steroids must really be messing with you, you can barely call yourself a Rick these days.”

“Steroids? Th-that's bullshit, Erica. I got these babies from hard work, discipline, and _All Rick's Protein Juice._ ” He bragged, flexing his arms. 

“Sure. I'm getting a headache, don't you have a panel to prepare for?” Erica asked dryly. Rick opened his mouth, looking ready to deny it, but paused for a second. 

“Actually, yeah. I-I should probably get on that, huh? Can I count on you to be there?” 

“I don't know, I saw a thing about Mortys writing fanfiction that seemed right up my alley.” Erica replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. 

“I'll keep my eye out for you, Erica.” He said regardless, pointing at her as he walked backwards away from the table. He gave me a wink before turning around and disappearing into the crowds. 

“Jesus. I-I-I've met a _lot_ of Rick's in my day, and that guy?” She shook her head. “Total idiot.”

I studied the woman in front of me for a while, trying to figure out who exactly she was. Was she a Rick's sister? Someone cosplaying as a Rick? I wasn't quite sure, and even less sure about how to ask. Luckily, she must've read my confusion in my expression.

“Smile, sweet cheeks. I-I-I don't like the way you're looking at me.” She teased, pulling something out of her inside pocket. It was a flask. “Yes, I'm a Rick… of sorts. Total sausage fest in here, huh? Nice to see more of the fairer sex showing their faces here.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, I've passed maybe two or three women since I've been here.” I agreed, once again looking out over the sea of Ricks and Mortys as I had a sip of tea. Erica had a sip of her own drink; by the smell of it, some kind of hard liquor. 

“Most Ricks only bring th-their fuck buddies. Which one are you banging?” She asked. “That bodybuilder guy?” She added, raising her brow. 

“Oh, no! Not him… not any of them.” I admitted, and she laughed. 

“Right, damn it. Thought I might have someone to talk about h-how bad he was.” 

“I'm sorry?” 

“That guy. Muscles. Total fucking neanderthal in the sack, he-he's like a sex machine and not in a good way. It's like he only knows one rhythm and speed… h-honestly I'm surprised, Ricks are usually better-” she rambled, glancing off past my head as she got absorbed in her descriptions.

“Alright, I get it.” I interrupted, chuckling. 

“Anyway, h-he's been clingy as hell ever since. I'd stay away, i-if I were you.” She advised, and I shook my head in amusement.

“Noted.”

“So you're not boning any Ricks? That's tough. If you ever wanna taste of what we've got to offer, and uh, forget about what I just said; we don't all suck… I'm happy to pop your Sanchez cherry.” She smirked at me, and I chuckled again, a little embarrassed this time. 

“No, that's okay… Thank you. I'm perfectly happy just, ah, remaining firmly in the acquaintance zone with Ricks.” I said apologetically, offering her a little smile. “I don't know how long I'd be able to keep my sanity, you know? All of this is very overwhelming.” I gestured to the space around us, and she glanced around looking incredulous. 

“Uhh… if you don't mind me asking; you're clearly new to all this. How the fuck did you end up at RickCon if you don't really know any Ricks?” She questioned, leaning forwards on the table interestedly.

“The Rick from my dimension needed my help with something. He runs a charity auction, selling clothes. I modelled for him.” I explained, and she nodded. 

“Oh right, yeah, the fashion show thing I kept hearing wh-whispers about. I heard Ice Cream Rick got shafted in there by the whole damn room.” She laughed, shaking her head. I frowned, and so she explained. “Ice Cream Rick? Guy in the pink shirt. Uhhh… ponytail, stupid little beard?” She gestured to her chin, and it suddenly clicked.

“Ohh! I felt so guilty about that! He was saying something to me when it happened… how awkward.” I said, shaking my head and feeling my cheeks warm up. 

“I'm not surprised. Too- too many Rick's think with their dicks. That's golden.” She grinned, then took a peek at her wrist watch. “Anyway, I gotta head off. S-supposed to be meeting Morticia soon, she wants me to go to the humanoid robotics panel, she wants me to build her an anatomically correct android _friend_.” She said, using air quotes for that last word whilst rolling her eyes. I didn't question her further. 

“It was nice speaking to you, Erica. Uhh, would you mind if we got a photo together?” I asked, holding up my carera with a little smile on my face. She grinned again. 

“Of course not, doll. Bring it in.” She said, holding her arm out towards me. I stood up and she wrapped her arm around my waist as I took our photo. 

“Thank you!” I said, and she waved her hand dismissively.

“Hey uh, what's your name?” She asked, and I answered without skipping a beat. I found it funny how names just weren't exchanged naturally here, since almost everyone had the same name anyway. “Alright, nice to meet you, (y/n). Maybe we'll bump into each other again?” She said, though looking around at the amount of people here, I doubted we would. 

“Maybe. Enjoy the con!” I replied. 

“You too, sweetie.” She nodded before heading off.

After she'd gone I realised my tea had almost fallen to an unpleasant temperature, so I quickly drank up the last of it and disposed of my cup in the bin nearby. Again, I found myself with the daunting feeling of not quite knowing what to do with myself. Someone had left a booklet on a table close to me, which I recognised to be the day's itinerary along with a map of the convention center, so I picked it up and had a look through. I wasn't surprised when lot of it went completely over my head; 

_Plumbus 101: How to get the best out of yours!_

_The Flesh Curtains: Live Performance and Q and A._

_Is Jerry All That Bad? A Debate._

_Lost The Spark? An introduction to sexual cybernetic enhancements. (18+)_

_Pocket Morty Battles. Bring your best! (RickCon ‘18 cannot be held liable for loss or damages resulting from Morty battles.)_

And that wasn't even all of them, the list filled up the whole page. I stuffed the booklet in my back pocket and decided I'd simply walk through the convention until I found something interesting.

-

After wandering around the convention for a while, I was surprised at the vast array of things that were going on. I passed big rooms filled with tables where people (mostly Mortys) were playing some sort of card game, I saw stalls set up selling artwork, plushies, RickCon merchandise, and I also noticed a few more attendees that were neither Ricks nor Mortys. I smiled at them whenever they noticed me, and I felt an odd sort of connection with them; it was nice to see someone different among the masses of identical faces. 

I also noticed that some Ricks must've had celebrity status. Every now and then I'd pass a meet and greet spot, where a gaggle of people were queueing up (and sometimes not so civilly forming a crowd) to meet and take photos with one particular Rick. I passed one where there was a Rick in a hot pink lab coat and shades at the center of attention. He had someone with him too, a boy with long bleached hair wearing short-shorts and a crop top; I was shocked when I realised he was a Morty, he looked so different. I was tempted to try and meet them, but looking at the queue I realised I'd be spending the rest of my time at the con standing in line, so I carried on walking. I also passed the Rick I'd bumped into earlier; the one with the bowl cut, he had a little group of women waiting to meet him. There weren't many Rick's in line to meet him, and the ones that were didn't seem very happy about it, seemingly dragged along by their female companions. I gave him a little wave as I passed, and he seemed to recognise me because he smiled widely and waved back. 

I came across a little courtyard; it was still kind of inside the convention center, just a closed off little space with plants and benches, open to the elements with no roof. I decided to pop outside for some fresh air, and when I did I was surprised to see an ice cream truck out there. I momentarily wondered how the hell it got into the confined space, but then remembered where I was. Ricks had a way of figuring things out, and teleportation was something they excelled in. The courtyard was mostly empty, just a few Mortys hanging around with ice creams, one of them was dressed in a strange costume; covered in red body paint and fake, padded muscles, with a pair of fake arms strapped to the sides of his head, and another pair under his real arms. He caught me looking at him as I tried to figure out what he was meant to be, but he didn't seem to mind and gave me a friendly smile. 

Burning curiosity led me over to the ice cream truck, as well as a sweet tooth. As I approached, I recognised the man inside, though he had his back to me as he cleaned down an ice cream spillage on the counters at the back of the truck. His pastel pink shirt and little ponytail poking out below the hat he'd adorned were a dead giveaway, and I smiled as I waited patiently for him to finish what he was doing and notice me. 

“What can I getcha?” He asked as he turned, then did a double take when he actually looked at me. He wiped down his hands with a damp cloth as he raised half of his brow, he side of his mouth turning up into a pleasantly surprised smile. “It's you.” He said. 

“And it's you.” I nodded at him with a smile, making him chuckle. 

“What's your name, sweetie?” He asked.

“(Y/n).” I said. “I don't need to ask yours. That's the nice thing about being here, names are easy to remember.” I commented.

“You put on qu-quite a show today, (y/n).” He told me and I shrugged, peering past him at the various ice cream machines and candy toppings available. 

“Did I? I thought I just stood there.” I told him honestly, laughing at myself. 

“That's all you needed to do, you got me dropping a day's takings pretty easily.” He snorted, sounded slightly irritated. He was still smiling though. 

“I'm sorry about that.” I said sheepishly, pressing my lips together and avoiding his eyes. 

“You're sorry?” He repeated. “I-i-it wasn't your fault, baby. It was that prick of an au-auctioneer.” He rolled his eyes.

“Still, I can't help but feel a tiny bit responsible.” I said.

“Don't. 's not the end of the world. I ca- I can just sell it on for a profit, considering those assholes gave it to me cheap.” He grinned, and I giggled, nodding.

“That's true, actually. Look who's laughing now.” I winked. 

“So you uh, you looking for a new party dress by any chance?” He asked, leaning his elbows on the work surface at the edge of the window. “I can do you a pretty good deal for an original Sanchez…” 

I laughed, suddenly feeling warm due to how close he was leaning. He smelt like sugar and vanilla. My wit went out the window as I fumbled through my response. “Oh, actually I- I don't think that would really suit me. I'm more of a, uhh… I prefer longer… dresses.” my cheeks were pink with embarrassment that really had no place being there.

“I thought it suited you jus-just fine, baby.” He said, his voice lowering as he continued to lean just a few inches away from my face. The urge to step back was strong, but I was enjoying his proximity and the smell coming off of him too much to go with my instincts. 

“I really don't have hundreds of pounds to spend on a dress.” I replied, my voice quiet and meek. He licked his lips and straightened up, bracing his hands on the work surface. 

“Pounds? Ah, r-right. You're with him, from London, right?” He said, putting on a cockney accent for the word _London_.

“With him? He's from- yeah we're from the same dimension. From London.” I nodded. 

“I th-thought you spoke funny.” He teased, that smirk of his coming back. I glared playfully at him.

“I'll have you know my parents sent me to elocution lessons as a child.” I retorted, putting on my best rendition of the Queen's English. 

“Ahh, s-so you're a little posh girl, huh? I see why that fancy Rick likes you then.”

“Oh, I don't think so. 'Like’ is pushing it, I think at this point we tolerate each other and that's a far as it goes.” I said with an eye roll, and this seemed to surprise him.

“Really? So you uh… you aren't together?” He asked, his expression turning indifferent, casual. I gave him a suspicious smile, hesitating before answering.

“What's it to you?” I asked, and he paused, smiling at me in amusement.

“Maybe I'm looking for someone t-to take out for dinner. And _maybe_ I've got a designer dress on my hands that'd make a great gift for a first date, you know, really blow 'em out the water.” He said, and I jolted a little in surprise at his forwardness.

“Oh? Well, I-” I started, flustered.

“So d’you think your Rick would be up for it? I-I-I think the dress would really suit him.” He continued. I stared at him blankly for a moment, my mouth hanging open mid sentence. He laughed, shaking his head. “Are you after an ice cream or what?” 

I took a moment to recover and cleared my throat. “Yes, uhh… could I have a chocolate ice cream cone with chocolate sauce and… chocolate sprinkles, please.” 

“You want anymore chocolate based toppings on that? I-I-I think I can, I can probably find something else to throw on there.” He said, looking amused as he turned around to prepare it for me. 

“No, thank you.” I laughed. When he turned around with my ice cream cone in hand, I dug out a note from my purse; I had no idea what currency it was, or how much it was, but I figured it would probably cover the cost of the ice cream. He took it from me, and handed back some change. “Wow. Very generous.” I raised my brows as he passed me the ice cream, it was huge. I had to lick it straight away to stop a blob of chocolate sauce from dribbling down the side. Rick watched me as I did, a deeply satisfied, lascivious smirk on his face. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, thanked him, and turned away. 

I took a seat on a nearby bench, taking a good look around the courtyard. There were four trees planted in each corner of the space; they didn't look like the trees we had on earth, they looked thinner, wiry, their branches curling around and tangling with each other in a way that made them look kind of creepy. They had little pink flowers on them, like cherry blossoms but larger, and their petals littered the ground which was covered in a mosaic design. I stared for a while, trying to work out if there was a pattern in the tiny chips of stone and what seemed to be broken beer bottles that made up the mosaic, and although it was hard to see the whole thing from the ground, I realised it might've been some sort of symbol. I'd noticed it dotted around the convention center, a letter 'R’ sitting inside a triangle-like shape, it must've been the insignia for the citadel of Ricks. 

A sliding sound caught my attention, and I looked over in time to see ice cream Rick shutting up his truck. He emerged from behind it, having removed his hat, and was coming over to me with a bag in his hand; I recognised it as one of the ones I'd packed earlier. I was surprised as he took a seat beside me on the bench, placing the bag at his feet as he turned to look at me. I watched him expectantly as he stared me down, a thoughtful look in his eye. 

“I uh, I'm pretty sure you got that I was _joking_ when I was talking about taking your Rick out to dinner, right? C-cause that's not exactly unheard of around here, but it's not- I don't roll like that, baby. I get sick of seeing myself in the mirror, wh-why would I wanna hang around with another one of me for extended periods of time?” He said to me, prompting an awkward silence. “I mean, Ricks are great in the sack, so I get that part. B-b-but, ah…” He trailed off, looking at me with a wince. He seemed embarrassed, like he didn't know what to say. 

“That's none of my business, you don't have to explain yourself.” I shook my head and offered him a polite smile. 

“I wanna take you out.” He said bluntly. “I-I-I know it's weird cause you barely know me, but you seem nice and I think it could be fun.” 

“Oh… right.” I stared, wide eyed at him. Two thoughts crossed my mind; first, I wanted to say yes. He was cute, seemed nice enough, and he was forward. I liked forwardness. But two; for all I knew he could be exactly like the Rick from my dimension. He was technically the same person, right? And the longer I spent with my Rick, the more I realised how incompatible we were. Ice Cream Rick took my hesitation as a definite no, and shook his head. 

“Never mind, I get it, i-i-it's a little creepy. You're clearly not into Rick's otherwise you'd be banging the one you already know, f-forget I asked.” He backpedaled. 

“No, hang on, I would like that.” I found myself saying, turning to face him head on, patting his forearm to get him to look at me. “You seem different to my Rick.” I added. 

“I should fucking hope so, that guy's a pretentious dick.” He exclaimed, I blew out a laugh before I could manage to stifle it. 

“He's not that bad.” I said quietly, though my words had little conviction. I turned my attention back to my ice cream, which was starting to melt and drip down my knuckles. There was no way of licking it away that wouldn't be seen as sexually suggestive, so I went ahead and did it anyway. 

“So you're saying yes?” He asked, watching me intently as I licked the sticky melted mess from between my fingers as decently as possible. 

“Yes.” I nodded with a smile.

“I guess I'll b-be giving you this, then.” He said, picking up the bag from the floor and holding it out to me. I stared at it for a moment before looking him in the eye.

“You know you really don't have to. You could make your money back and probably more if you sold it.” I said, and he gave me an unimpressed look.

“I-I-I really don't give a shit about the money. Like I said, I can make what I paid back in a day.” He shrugged, holding it closer to me.

“I can't except such an extravagant gift, you said it yourself, we barely know each other.” 

“I don't want it. It'll look better on you than me. Just t-take it off my hands, hell, sell it yourself if you want.” He placed it onto my lap and I stared down into the bag. 

“I wouldn't do that.” I shook my head. He opened his mouth to protest, thinking I was trying to give it back to him. “But thank you. That's very kind of you, Rick.” 

“Alright, well I expect to s-see you wearing it the next time I see you.” 

“Are you sure? I felt a little silly wearing it, do you really think it suits me?” I asked.

“Absolutely, baby. You can pull it off, I wouldn't have given it to you otherwise.” He said. I laughed.

“Thank you, I'll accept the compliment. Even if I don't fully believe you. You'd probably be able to pull it off better than me.”

“That's the plan.” He said. I looked up at him on confusion.

“Hmm?” I prompted, and he stared at me for a moment. When he didn't elaborate, I ran the conversation through my head again. It clicked. “Oh! Oh, wow. Okay.” I cleared my throat, feeling warm. 

“I'm joking.” He smirked. “Unless you're down with that?” He added. 

“Well, we'll just see how… how the date goes, shall we?” I smiled awkwardly, hoping he wouldn't notice how red I must be going. 

“You don't know how to respond to flirtatiousness, do you?” He asked, nothing but amusement written on his face. 

“Not really, no.” I admitted, shaking my head. 

“That's cute. As long as it doesn't make you uncomfortable.” He said, a serious edge to his voice. I appreciated his concern but shook my head. 

“Only in the sense that I wish I knew how to respond.” I laughed, focusing back on my ice cream now that I was down to the cone. It was full right down to the bottom, so I was careful not to spill any as I finished it off. It was delicious, better than the ice cream on earth. “This is really good, by the way. Is it a special recipe of some sort?” 

“Yeah, it's made using milk from… something other than a cow.” He said, averting his eyes. “I won't tell you what it is, just know that if you eat too much of it you'll go blind.” 

I paused mid chew, trying to see if he was joking. He smirked. 

“Don't worry. I-I didn't give you quite enough.” He assured me, and I swallowed the last bite carefully. Something grabbed Rick's attention behind me, and he held his hand up to wave at someone. “Morty, there you are.”

“S-s-sorry Rick. I got caught up in a crowd and couldn't get here any faster.” I heard a young voice say, and I turned to look at the kid approaching us. He looked like a pretty standard Morty, except he had a little more meat on his bones and was wearing an outfit similar to Rick's. 

“Don't worry, kid. Open up when you're ready.” Rick said, tossing something to Morty. It was a set of keys, I assumed to be for the ice cream truck. Morty missed them and ended up picking them up off the ground.

“I met- saw a bunch of Mortys dressed as the vindicators, Rick. I ha-had to get some pictures with them. I wish I'd have worn a costume.” Morty said, sounding a little glum towards the end. 

“Maybe next year. It'll be S-Summer's turn to help me with the truck.” Rick replied, smiling. It struck me how pleasant Rick was being to Morty. The few times I'd seen my Rick interact with his grandson over the past couple of weeks during his attempts to train me for the auction, he'd been a little mean and short with him. I'd chalked it down to stress at the time, but after being here and over hearing so many conversations between Mortys, I'd realised it was likely to be the norm. 

“C-can I make one for myself before I open?” Morty asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the truck. 

“Why not? J-just don't go stupid with the toppings like last time.” Rick said, rolling his eyes. Morty grinned and ran towards the ice cream truck, yelling his thanks on the way, promising not to go over the top. I couldn't help but smile at the exchange. “He will.” Rick said quietly, sighing as he watched his grandson. I chuckled. 

“He's cute.” I said, turning back to Rick. 

“Cute? N-not the word I'd use. But uh, he's a good kid.” He nodded, looking back at me with an amused smile. “Anyway, h-he's taking over for the rest of the day, so I'm gonna go check out some more of the con. You wanna join me, b-baby?” 

“Umm…” I started, checking my watch. I still had over an hour before I was meant to meet my Rick. “Sure.” I nodded, rising to my feet when he did. 

“I-is there anything you were planning on checking out? I saw a thing about cybernetic enhancements that seemed interested. That's starts soon.” He said, walking by my side as we headed back inside. I gave him an unsure look.

“The uh… the sexual cybernetic enhancements one?” I asked. Rick laughed loudly.

“No, that one's not 'till later this evening. I-i-if you fancy sticking around for that one, I'm happy to accompany you. But th-this one is about standard stuff; bionic limbs, x-ray vision, artificial livers, that sort of thing.” He explained. 

“Oh right. Then we'll go and see the um, standard stuff.” I nodded, chuckling. 

On the way to the panel, we stopped to have a wander round a room full of stalls. I still had a lot of money left over from what Rick had given me, and considering he hadn't mentioned any plans to pay me for my help this morning, I figured it was all I'd get and it couldn't be spent on earth. I thought I might as well spend it here, it was burning a hole in my pocket. I ended up purchasing a copy of an album by _The Flesh Curtains_ , which I'd learned was a band many Ricks were in at one point or another, including Ice Cream Rick. I also bought a button with Morty's face on to go with the Rick one I'd bought earlier, a onesie with a hood that looked like Rick's spiky hair (which was too cozy to pass up) and a plushie of what appeared to be a dog in a robot costume. Rick had picked up a few things too, mostly techy items and electrical components. He explained he was working on a new machine that could make ice cream twice as creamy and take longer to melt. He practiced science and inventing like most Ricks did, and everything in his truck he'd made himself.

The cybernetic enhancement talk had been more interesting than I'd thought. I didn't get most of the scientific jargon that the four Ricks on stage had been using, but the demonstrations had been fascinating. I watched one of them extend his arm, which was made of metal, all the way across to the back of the room to turn the lights off in order to demonstrate another of the Rick's glow in the dark hands. I wondered why on Earth you'd want glow in the dark hands, but then I guessed they might be useful during power cuts…

At the end of the talk, Rick and I left the room and started heading back towards where the charity auction had taken place. I was running a little late, I was supposed to have met my Rick about ten minutes ago, but I'm sure he would get over it. The time I'd spent with Ice Cream Rick had been pleasant, I found myself enjoying his company a hell of a lot more than my dimension’s Rick, and I was glad I'd agreed to see him again. When we reached the door to the dressing area, I was actually quite sad to be leaving. 

“Thanks for hanging out with me this afternoon. I felt a little weird being surrounded by so many of you guys, wandering around all on my own.” I said to him, fiddling with the wristband. “I suppose you'll want to make a note of this, if you'd still like to take me out to dinner.” I added hopefully, lifting my arm up to show him the dimension number, glowing neon around my wrist. 

“Nah, I hid a tracking device in your ice cream earlier on. I sh-should be able to find you pretty easily.” He told me with a shrug, his expression aloof. I stared at him for a while, letting my arm drop. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. “I-I-I'm joking.” He said, and relief washed over me as he took my wrist gently in his hand and read the code. 

“You're uh, you're quite the jokester, aren't you?” I mused, smirking at him. 

“Yeah well, I don't drink so I've gotta find a coping mechanism somewhere.” He said dryly, but he was smiling as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and jotted my dimension code down on his forearm.

“You don't drink? Wow. From what I understand that's pretty rare for a Rick.” I said, raising my brows.

“You'd be right. There's a reason I sold out of rum and raisin before midday.” He chuckled, looking up at me from the wristband. He delayed letting go of my hand for just a split second too long, and my heart started racing. “But uh, alcohol’s bitter. I like the sweeter things in life.” 

His words made me shiver for some reason, he noticed this and chuckled as he finally let go of my hand and straightened up. 

“I'll leave you to find your Rick. As for our date, I'll get a message to you.” He said.

“How? You aren't ghosting me, are you?” I teased, but honestly I was a little worried. I wanted to get to know him a little more, and I hoped I hadn't put him off somehow during the afternoon.

“Nah, baby. Ricks have their ways. You'll hear from me in a few days.” He grinned. 

“I look forward to it.” I nodded. 

“Let me just take ano-another look at that dimension code…” he said thoughtfully, and so I lifted my arm. He took it in his hand a pressed a quick kiss to the back of my hand, then winked at me. “I'll see you soon, baby.” he nodded at me, before heading off into the crowd, leaving to me swoon on my own. 

I took a moment to gather myself before entering the dressing area with a badly suppressed grin on my face. I turned the corner to see my Rick with his back to me, standing in front of a tall mirror, tightening up his tie. He caught my eye in the mirror and jumped slightly, and that's when I heard movement from the couch on the other side of the room. The stylist Rick who had done my hair earlier scrambled to his feet, it took my brain a full second to realise that he was stark naked and smoking a cigarette, and I quickly turned away as he grabbed his clothes and dashed behind one of the dressing room screens.

“You're uh… you're a little late. I assumed you'd found something interesting and were going to be a while.” Tailor Rick said, clearing his throat as he turned to look at me. 

“I went to a panel and it took me a while to get over here.” I said distractedly, taking in the state of the room. One of the clothing racks by the sofa had been knocked over, and there was a broken glass on the floor, liquid was soaking into the carpet around it. The sofa itself was in a state of disarray, the throw pillows that had been neatly placed there earlier were scattered haphazardly, and some were on the floor. “How did your talk go?” I asked, feeling a heavy sense of awkwardness begin to descend. 

“Very well.” He simply nodded, walking towards me. “Have you had fun?” 

“Yes, thank you.” I nodded, my face breaking back into a smile. 

“Hmm, that smile looks like someone got their leg over.” He observed, and I raised a brow at him.

“Yes, well, someone did.” I said, giving him a pointed look. “It wasn't me, however.”

“We should get going. Miss the rush hour traffic.” He said, avoiding my eyes and walking past me. I smirked. 

“Traffic? I didn't realise there was traffic in space.” I teased him with a snicker.


	4. Slip Stitch (Tailor/Hair Stylist at RickCon'18 NSFW)

“Well, that went better than I expected. When I walked out there and saw all those bloody lab coats I thought I was going to get heckled off stage.” Tailor Rick chuckled dryly as he walked back into the dressing room after being on stage for the last hour. He'd been hosting a seminar, along with a number of his other fashion-oriented alternate selves, about style tips for the average Rick. It was a relatively stripped back talk, he'd had to speak through gritted teeth when he'd talked about designer lab coats; if it was up to him, all lab coats would be burnt to ashes, but he knew he had to compromise for these Ricks.

“Yeah, but I-I-I wouldn't have outright insulted that Rick in the turtleneck. They might not be on fashion right now, b-but he didn't look _that_ bad. Perhaps you could've softened your words a bit?” The second Rick, who had been sharing the dressing space all day, scolded. He'd been appointed as the stylist for the charity fashion auction, but had volunteered to join the seminar as a last minute guest. Most of his knowledge was in hairstyling, and despite grumbling about it for a while, tailor Rick had to admit the panel could use his knowledge.

“Well, do you disagree? Do you not think he- he looked like he had no neck?” 

“Ah, but that's not what you said. Y-you told him his head looked like the tip of a short, yet girthy penis.” Stylist reiterated, cocking a brow. Tailor Rick walked over to the mini bar by the dressing table and reached for the bottle of bourbon, unscrewing the cap before turning to his counterpart. 

“I repeat, do you disagree?” He questioned. The stylist kept his mouth closed. “I stand by it. He did look like the head of a chode, it was just shoulders and head, shaft and bellend. Where was his neck? Honesty is always the best policy.”

“He's the guy who bid on that God-awful green suit of yours at the auction. You didn't think his fashion sense was s-so bad then, did you?” 

“God-awful?” The tailor seethed, spinning around, a glass in one hand and the bottle of bourbon in the other. He poured himself a healthy amount before slamming the bottle back down behind him. “How dare you insult my brand like that. Do you- you have eyes in your skull, don't you? I suppose you're jealous, hmm? Jealous you couldn't afford something like that, so you have to bash it to make yourself feel better.”

“Oh, I could afford it. The president pays me a generous salary, not that th-that has anything to do with you. I simply wouldn't be seen dead in that much forest green. That kind of colour should only be used in an accent piece.” President Morty's stylist quipped, reaching a hand up to his hair to smooth out the eye-catching style he was wearing; all swept upwards with the tips bleached blond. 

Tailor Rick's eye twitched, and for a split second, Stylist felt nervous. He quickly pushed the feeling away, nervous? Why should he feel nervous? That Rick was no better than him, he shouldn't worry about pleasing him, or being sensitive to his feelings. The tailor was a pompous asshole who'd been rubbing him up the wrong way all day. And people have the cheek to call _him_ pompous? 

“Says who? The guy dressed head to toe in fuchsia?” Tailor scoffed, taking a large swig of his drink. 

“Don't try to tell me this is a fashion faux pas, you auctioned off a three piece in this exact colour. If this is bad, then you're a bad designer, bodkin.” Stylist stalled at the words coming out of his own mouth. Bodkin? What the hell, where had that come from? He wasn't even sure how that word had made it into his vocabulary, let alone slipped out now of all times, as an insult, no less. Tailor seemed just as taken aback, if not just plain confused. 

“Bodkin?” Tailor mumbled in uncertainty, then shook his head dismissively. “The difference is, I designed that ensemble to be striking, to be worn under very specific circumstances. It's not every day attire, you just look like a little girl running around in her garish pink dress up clothes. That should not be y-y-your go-to look. You'd be much better suited to a powder blue, perhaps even a pale mint green.” 

Now he was giving him fashion advice? The worst part was, Stylist found himself considering the advice seriously, taking a tentative glance down at his own hot pink jacket. 

“Hmm, no, perhaps the pink is fine. It would just look better if this was shorter.” Tailor mused, strolling across the room towards the other man, reaching behind him to lift up the back of the jacket, holding it so it sat higher on his hips. He didn't notice the immediate tension in his counterpart’s body, nor the colour in his cheeks that could rival the jacket for vibrancy. 

The stylist wondered at what point this turned from petty insults and bickering to genuine advice and contemplation over his own choice in attire. He didn't have it in him to question it out loud, he wasn't opposed to the sudden closeness of the other Rick. He smelled good; like expensive cologne. 

“I could take it up for you, you know? This cut would- it'd look more flattering. Right now the shape of it a-and all this pink. It's very heavy, it brings your shoulders down and makes your posture appear lazy, even though up close I can tell that it's not.” Tailor continued, moving around to the back of his latest project, dropping the fabric of the jacket and instead sweeping a hand up the tall, gently curved line of his spine. The Stylist stayed impossibly still under the contact, not entirely sure what to say or do. 

Tailor eventually dropped his hand from his back and strolled away. When he turned to look, Stylist saw that he was going for a large leather carry case that when popped open, was revealed to contain a bunch of sewing equipment. 

“Wait, y-y-you’re serious? You want to alter this, right now?” He questioned, a frown creasing his forehead. Tailor stopped what he was doing and looked up, shifting his glass of bourbon from one hand to the other. 

“Yes.” He said flatly, his expression bored. 

“No! You aren't chopping bits off of this, this cost a lot of money.” Stylist argued. He gained an eye roll and a heavy sigh for his refusal. “I'll just buy a different jacket, if you're so concerned about the clothes on m-m-my back.” 

“I'm not concerned at all. Do you think I care all that much?”

“Well you're the one offering to alter it, you obviously care a little.” He quirked a brow. 

“Quite frankly, you could walk around in a bin bag, or nothing at all, it wouldn't affect me in the slightest. I was simply offering my expertise, since you helped out at the seminar. You scratched my back, so I thought I'd scratch yours.” Tailor straightened up, letting his eyes roll up and down the form of the other man as he took another sip of his drink. His eyelids were low and his expression indifferent, but there was a sort of flame flickering in his eyes that couldn't be ignored. 

“Yeah?” Stylist snarked, though he didn't know how to continue from there. He suddenly felt tongue-tied, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Even more puzzling, his pants were beginning to feel tight, with this man's eyes on him. This angered him. “I don't need your _help_. I definitely don't need your condescending fashion advice, I'll wear whatever the hell I want.”

“Well then, be my guest. Fuck me for trying to be nice for once.” The tailor's eyes rolled so hard it was a surprise they didn't disappear into the back of his head. “You can look as frumpy as you like, just don't do it in front of me.” He waved his hand like he was swatting a fly as he kicked his sewing box away, it slammed into a nearby clothing rack, making all the empty coat hangers clatter together. 

“Fuck off.” Stylist spat, marching forwards to grab his box of cigarettes from the coffee table beside the other Rick. He didn't miss the other man's eyes dropping to his crotch as he walked, and a flush of embarrassment made his palms sweaty when he realised he was very obviously sporting a semi. The white pants he was wearing practically enhanced it, screaming _look at me!_

Why the fuck was he getting hard at a time like this? The man was infuriating, thinking he was so far above everyone else. The truth is, he was just a Rick, just like the rest of them. He wasn't fucking special. He had no business talking to Stylist like an idiot, or meddling in his decisions and messing with his head. He certainly had no business grabbing the wrist Stylist was reaching for his cigarettes with, and pulling him upright to get a look into his eyes. 

Instinctively, Stylist jerked out of the grip and gave the other man a shove. Tailor dropped his glass, it shattered on the ground, the cheap thin carpet now soaking up his bourbon doing nothing to soften the blow. 

“Hey! That was good fucking bourbon!” Tailor growled, latching his hand back onto that same wrist and dragging the stylist close to him, snarling in his face. “I've about had enough of your attitude, you're a little big for your boots for a lowly fucking hairdresser.”

“I'm the president's stylist, you fucker!” Came the retort, spit flying with anger. 

“So you keep saying. He's just a fucking Morty. Y-you think anyone's impressed because you help a fucking Morty comb his hair in the morning? If you ask me, I think it's just weird. Th-this is exactly why I refused to live at the citadel, bunch of deluded bloody freaks, you are.” Tailor seethed, leaning in close, physically looking down his nose at the other Rick. 

He didn't stay there long, he was shoved – harder than the first time – and fell backwards over his sewing box. He landed in a heap among coathangers, having knocked down the clothing rack behind him. It stunned him for a while, it took him a moment to work out what had happened, but when he regained his bearings he was on his feet, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened. 

Stylist watched him as he so meticulously plucked a piece of lint off of his suit jacket, and brushed down his pants. He was sure the guy was gonna bite back, lunge at him, take him down, and in all honesty Stylist was in the mood for a fight. He was both shocked and disappointed that it seemed the tailor was not interested. The other man cleared his throat and raised his head to meet stylist Rick's eyes. 

“Wow, I didn't take you for a brawler. You're even less refined than I thought you were, you certainly fooled me. It-it seems you're nothing but another sewer-rat of a Rick, shame.” He sighed wistfully, and it was Stylist's instinct to swing for him. Though he resisted, since it would only prove his point.

“I'm going out for a cigarette.” He muttered instead, reaching for his cigarettes a second time. 

“Really? With that hard-on in your trousers? Whatever will people think?” Tailor mused lightly, his voice like a breeze, completely casual and inoffensive despite his words. It made the hairs on the back of stylist Rick's neck stand up, and he froze, bent over with his eyes on the box of cigarettes. “I can't say I'm shocked. I knew from the moment you met me that you wanted me, it's an instinct I have. Y-you may call me arrogant, I'd see it as me being in tune with others, personally.”

“I don't have a boner. My dick’s just that big.” The Stylist excused, his fingers closing around the box as he raised back up. “Don't flatter yourself, and don't be staring at my junk. An-and you call me the weirdo.” He added with a tut.

“I’m not an idiot, I know what a boner looks like.” Tailor replied, his eyes fixed on the bulge between the other man's legs. To his embarrassment, Stylist could feel it growing. There was no hiding that. “You need help with that?” 

The question hit Stylist in the gut like a punch, his cock twitching in response, almost like it was answering the question for him. Who the hell gave this guy the right to make him feel this way? Stylist Rick had fucked around with alternative versions of himself before, sure, but he at least got along with them out of the bedroom too. This guy had been irritating him all day. 

Still, he couldn't deny the building sexual tension between the two, even out on stage, every time Tailor butted in while he was talking, or made a passing comment about him and his style choices, to make an example of him. It had annoyed him immensely, but he could not ignore this irritating kind of admiration he had that had been building. The man had confidence, he had a certain kind of charm, he had this effect where everyone shut up and listened to him whether they agreed with him or not. He was a big presence, one that would not be ignored. 

“Are you really asking that? W-what, are you gonna jack me off or something? That what you have in mind?” Stylist questioned irritably, narrowing his eyes. 

“You'd like that, hm?” Tailor purred, closing the gap between them, tracing his fingertips from his chest, up to his shoulder and around his neck. “I was thinking something more mutual.” 

“Won't your girlfriend have an- an issue with that?” Stylist continued to stare into the other man's eyes, searching them for a hint of insincerity. The last thing he wanted was to be made a joke of by _this_ guy. 

“Girlfriend?” Tailor questioned. “You mean my model? She's not my girlfriend. I don't- she isn't my type.” He explained, a certain edge to his voice that told the stylist all he needed to know. Tailor looked him over now that he was closer, his fingers brushed upwards to the back of his head, feeling the soft short hair of his partially shaved head. “You, however…” He purred very quietly, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly. Stylist licked his lips.

Tailor moved forward in a rush, pressing his lips firmly to the stylist’s for an open mouthed kiss. In an instant all of the other Rick's tension dissolved, his shoulders dropped softly and his arms encircled him, fingers tightening in the soft, silky fabric of his one of a kind suit. Stylist had needed this, and he hadn't realised just how much until it was happening. He moaned shamelessly, parting his lips and letting the tongue probing at his bottom lip enter his mouth, as he did he felt a hand snake down his side, and then around to his front. Tailor palmed his now fully hard cock, as his own steadily grew in his perfectly pressed pants, he arched his hips forwards into the other Rick's thigh. 

Stylist felt himself being pulled and carefully spun around, then he could do nothing but trust as he was pushed. It was disorienting for a moment, the kiss having made him lose all sense of direction, when his butt hit the sofa with the bounce. Tailor climbed up on top of him, breaking the kiss to look down at him as he slid his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He dropped his jacket on the coffee table behind him, not quite carelessly – he was never careless with his clothing – but distractedly. He joined their lips again as he pushed his lips forward, putting their straining cocks flush together; he rutted forward slowly, rhythmically, pulling soft sighs from both of them. 

“What if- is that chick coming back?” Stylist pulled back, questioning the tailor with just a hint of resistance in his eyes. 

“Sh-she's probably off somewhere getting fucked by some other Rick, she always did drool over me so I suspect she's found a suitable replacement. She's already late, don't worry about it.” He answered dismissively. Once again, Stylist was taken aback by his confidence – or his arrogance, he hadn't decided which. He didn't particularly care which, his brain had registered the _don't worry about it_ and accepted it without question; he moved in for another kiss. 

As their tongues wrestled in their mouths, Tailor worked on undressing his counterpart, starting with that jacket he'd complained so much about. He pushed it back and off of his shoulders, leaving it to bunch up between the other Rick's back and the sofa. Stylist wasn't so concerned about creases in his attire, so he left it there. He was shirtless underneath, and Tailor's hands eagerly swept over the newly exposed skin, seeking out his nipples only to find that they were pierced. He pulled back and looked at them, raising a brow. 

“How… interesting.” He mentioned, having never been one for piercings himself; especially not those of this kind. He couldn't help but feel they were rather… trashy, but it didn't stop his cock from twitching in his pants at the sight of them now. It surprised him, and he gently rolled the adorned buds under his fingertips, unsure how much pressure to use, whether they hurt, or if he should leave them alone altogether. 

“You don't have to tr-treat them so carefully.” Stylist told him, obviously reading the expression on his face. “As long as you aren't _too_ rough, I like them played with.” He added, looking up at the other man with dark, heavily aroused eyes that sent another jolt to the tailor's cock. 

At this, Tailor ducked is head, smattering kisses down his front towards his nipples; he took one into his mouth, exploring the sensation of the jewellery against his tongue, the slight metallic taste it provided. He circled his tongue around the bud, flicking the bar with every circuit; Stylist groaned softly, bringing his hand to the back of Tailor's neck to hold him there. He switched to the other nipple, providing the same attention before sucking on it, peering up with his eyes to get a look at Stylist's reaction. He was biting his lip, panting quickly through his nose. Tailor couldn't help but note that he'd never had that same reaction to having his nipples touched before, they simply weren't that sensitive; he wondered if having them pierced changed that at all. 

He scooted backwards a little on the other man's thighs so that he could bring his hand down to palm his cock. He squeezed gently, soon finding the outline of his shaft and stroking it through the white fabric; Stylist groaned helplessly, attempting to buck up into the touch, failing due to being pinned by Tailor's weight. Tailor released the nipple between his lips and looked up. 

“You're a lucky man, Rick. After all that lip you gave me, I-I-I really shouldn't be doing this… but I like sucking cock, so,” Tailor informed him, sliding further back until he dropped completely to the floor on his knees. Stylist's eyes widened and he blinked down at him, unable to comprehend his fortune as a pair of lithe hands started unbuttoning his pants and shuffled them down his thighs. “Mmm, very nice. I've been with a lot of Ricks, some take better care of themselves than others. You- you're one of the good ones, I see.” 

He was obviously referring to the state of his pubic hair; Stylist liked to be well groomed at all times. Up top, he was trimmed and neatened, and everything from his balls down was waxed clean. Tailor licked his lips and gripped the cock in front of him tightly, slowly stroking, his other hand working to pull the loafers off Stylist's feet one by one; after that, Stylist raised up for a second to help him get his pants off completely. He was stark naked, and despite the fact that Tailor was on his knees in front of him, he still felt like the vulnerable one. 

“Tak-take your shirt off.” He murmured, and Tailor paused, almost as if he was surprised to be asked of such a thing. He did what he was told though; loosening his tie completely and slipping it free from his collar, he placed it with his jacket on the table behind him. He unbuttoned his shirt all the way down – none of this pulling it over the head malarkey for him – and slipped it off his shoulders, neatly draping it with the rest of his clothes. Stylist half expected him to properly fold it up, or even get the damn iron out, but he didn't comment on it even though he half wanted to tell him to hurry the fuck up before his dick went soft. 

With the request out of the way, Tailor returned to the task at hand, wrapping his fist around the base of Stylist's cock before leaning forwards and dragging his tongue up the underside. Stylist hissed through his teeth as the mouth on his cock opened up, taking in the head and sucking on it rhythmically. He didn't know what to do with himself, his head rolled back, feeling the tight ring of those lips slide down, he felt the back of Tailor's throat engulf the end of his length, squeezing as he swallowed around him. 

“Arghhh, fuck.” He practically wheezed, his hand flying down to Tailor's hair, who made a sound of annoyance and batted the offending appendage away. He didn't stop blowing him though, taking long sweeping bobs of his head, engulfing him from base to tip, up and down. He was good. Stylist settled for holding onto his shoulder, seeing as messing with his hair was apparently off the table. 

He had his rhythm down, Stylist would give him that, it was as if he knew when to up the ante and when to back off, constantly bringing Stylist to a point where he thought he was going to cum, only to back down again and focus his attentions elsewhere a little more subtly. Whether it be pressing his lips to the vein running up the underside of his cock, or sucking one of his hairless balls into his mouth, Tailor knew what he needed before he even knew he needed it. Ricks were often good at pleasing other Ricks, that was only natural, but this one? He had a fucking gift. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Tailor questioned, lifting his mouth off and replacing it with his hand, giving him slow but tight strokes. 

“Oh fuck, y-yes. Ke-keep going.” Stylist whined, lifting his hips to rock into the fist around his cock. Tailor seemed amused by this, his mouth twisting almost patronisingly in a way that forced him to settle down.

“Now this seems a little unfair, don't you think? You having all the fun.” He questioned, bracing his hands on Stylist's knees to push himself up. His cock was jutting out from his unbuttoned pants, dripping precum, and Stylist realised he must've been touching himself as he went down on him. His cock gave a visible twitch at this, and it didn't go unnoticed as Tailor's eyes dropped down to it. “See something you like?” he chuckled, removing his shoes and sliding them neatly aside with his foot before pulling his pants down, he added them to the growing pile on the coffee table along with his underwear.

“What do you want to do? Ride me?” Stylist asked, ignoring the question to which the answer was most definitely yes. He was embarrassingly out of breath and fought to control himself. 

“What, with no lube? I'm not a masochist.” Tailor scoffed, climbing back onto his lap and ghosting his hands down the other Rick's arms until he found his wrists. Stylist wondered what he was doing but did not protest when his arms were lifted and pinned up against the wall behind him. Tailor gathered both wrists in one hand and held them there, while his other hand slipped back down his body, then paused just above their cocks. 

“I'm sure I- I can find something in my makeup bag, may-maybe some vaseline or something-”

“No. I'm not fucking you here, in public, with some make-do lubricant. What do you take me for? I have a little more class than that, thank you.” Tailor retorted, narrowing his eyes. Stylist kept his mouth shut about the fact he'd just sucked his dick here, in public. There wasn't an awful lot of class in that act, either. A smirk tugged his lips, and the grip on his wrists tightened.

“Then what's the plan, couture?” He questioned, and Tailor wordlessly answered by wrapping his hand around his cock and pulling up slowly, once, twice, coating his hand in his own residual saliva before adding his own cock into his grip, squeezing their cocks together. The two of them groaned in unison, the hot, throbbing contact of each others erections was divine, even before Tailor started stroking.

But when he did… ohhh, Tailor rolled his head back, letting out a low, gravelly moan that exposed the column of his neck to his partner, and it was too inviting for Stylist to resist pushing his lips against it. With his arms held firmly to the wall it was difficult to lean forwards enough to reach, but Tailor let up just a little bit and allowed his neck to be covered with kisses and slow drags of tongue. 

There was a little lubricant in his strokes from saliva and precum, but after a few dryer tugs Tailor caved and let go momentarily to spit into his hand. Stylist noted how discreet he was, politely ducking his head and holding his hand close to his mouth. It was nothing like the vulgar display put on by other Ricks he'd been with; hawking a particularly juicy glob and loudly spitting into their hand from a distance, sometimes even onto his cock directly. This guy was something else. 

With spit loosening things up a little the sensation was entirely different, their cocks slipped deliciously together with each pump of Tailor's fist, a dirty squelching sound met their ears and somehow added to the experience. Stylist felt his breath pick up again, it annoyed him how loud even his breathing was, how fucked he sounded, when Tailor seemed just as put together as he always did, his breaths coming much smoother and longer than his. Stylist also couldn't stop his hips from fidgeting on the sofa, itching to fuck into something, it was as if he couldn't control or resist his instincts. How fucking embarrassing. 

With anyone else he did not care, but this Rick seemed different from the others he'd fucked around with; he somehow wanted to impress him, prove himself to him. Prove what? Who knew? Just something. His arms fidgeted in Tailor's grip, urging it to come loose. 

“Let me- I wanna touch you.” He breathed, nipping at the other man's jaw playfully. 

“I like having your hands where I can see them.” Was his answer, and he pouted, bucking his hips as hard as he could so that Tailor released an unbridled moan. By the look on his face, he hadn't meant to be so vocal. 

“Let me.” Stylist repeated. “I can make this better for you.” He added, licking his lips and glancing down at their cocks, he could see the head of his cock disappear and emerge with every stroke, and he realised due to their position with Tailor on top, he couldn't bring his hand over the head of his own cock without risking losing grip on both of them. Well, they couldn't have that, could they? He needed to do something for Tailor to even things out a little. 

“Hmm?” Tailor inquired, intrigued. 

“I wanna use my fingers on you, feel how tight your hole is so I know what to expect next time we catch up.” He rumbled, smirking. Tailor flinched a little at the words. 

“Next time?” He snorted, his hand slowing down as he looked at his companion with an amused expression. 

“You don't think you're getting away without being fucked by me at some point or another, do you?”

“Who says I'm even a bottom?” Tailor cocked a brow, releasing the stylist's arms and instead holding onto the back of the sofa with both hands, levelling his gaze to his. The Stylist laughed, actually, heartily laughed. 

“No one. I didn't need to be told.” He teased, lifting his hand to his mouth and sucking on his middle finger. Tailor watched him with interested eyes, and didn't try to stop him when that lubed up digit was disappearing behind him, seeking out his puckered entrance. His breath hitched as the tip of Stylist's finger stroked over his hole a number of times, and he found himself leaning forwards to give him better access. He shuddered just a little when he breached, going in to the first knuckle. 

“Shit.” He sighed under his breath, closing his eyes and burying his burning face in Stylist's shoulder. The finger kept pushing, burying itself deeper until it was fully seated, then it was thrusting back and forth, slowly at first. Tailor moaned, the sound rising in pitch as the speed increased. He hated the sounds he made when he was like this, they were fucking humiliating. 

“Mm. That's it. I knew it.” Stylist whispered, chuckling to himself. Tailor wanted to punch him, but it felt too good to be angry enough. Instead he focused his energy on sitting back up enough so that he could wrap his hand around their cocks again; adding more spit to his hand before doing so. He jerked them off together as Stylist continued to finger him, pushing deeper as he loosened up. Now that Tailor was showing signs of being affected by this whole thing, Stylist was beginning to get a little confidence under his belt and withdrew his finger long enough to coat more of them in saliva; then he slipped two fingers inside. 

“Oh god!” Tailor wailed, flinging his head back and bucking his hips between his own hand and the fingers inside him. Stylist groaned and chewed on his lip, stroking his inner walls with each thrust, aiming to make him sob. A jolt wracked Tailor's body as those fingers brushed his sweet spot, and his cock oozed precum, making his grip even slippier. He twisted his hand at the top of each stroke, rubbing the head of Stylist's cock wonderfully, it made his stomach twist in knots, he would cum for sure if he didn't do something. 

It wasn't as though Stylist had anything to worry about though, Tailor wasn't far from completion himself, if the way his hand slowed down was anything to go by, his grip slacking off a little to give them both a moment to gather themselves. Stylist wondered why he wasn't just letting them both cum, it was clear they both wanted to. 

“Do three.” Tailor requested, and it took Stylist a second to sift through the fog in his head to work out what he meant. When he did, he pushed a third finger inside him, stretching him out with gentle twists of his wrist. “Yesss.” Tailor hissed, his lips parting, little puffs of air leaving him. 

Unable to resist, Stylist pushed forward and kissed him, pressing his tongue through the gap in his lips to taste him. Tailor reciprocated instantly, tilting his head and leaning into him, whining softly, almost effeminately (which both surprised and aroused the stylist). His hand moved quicker, and Stylist matched his pace with his fingers. Tailor writhed in his lap, his hips rolling back and forth, impaling himself on those fingers while his cock slid against Stylist's within the confines of his closed fist. His grip felt so hot and tight and wet that Stylist felt himself spiralling, he was gonna cum, he was so close, just a little more-

“Oh fuck yes, I'm cu-” it was Tailor who finished first, cutting his words off with a gasp as he shot ropes of hot cum over both of them, all over Stylist's belly and cock. The sight and wet sensation of it was the tipping point for the other Rick, who followed suit with a strangled groan, adding to the sticky mess between them with his own load. His free hand automatically clamped down on Tailor's thigh, holding him tightly as if he was worried he was going to climb off and leave him before he'd finished enjoying his orgasm. He didn't move though, continuing to stroke them both together; even as his own cock became oversensitive, he continued to give Stylist all he needed. 

Tailor gave a final tight squeeze to their cocks, pulling up to milk the final drops of cum from them both, then he let them go and watched them bob together, subtly rubbing together and sending sparks into his gut. Stylist gently withdrew his fingers, letting both hands fall limp on the sofa. They were a mess; both of them, totally covered in cum. Instinctively, Tailor wanted to turn his nose up, but he resisted. Instead, he climbed off of him and walked over to where the stylist's belongings were. Earlier he'd spotted him using a towel around his model’s shoulders when styling her hair, perhaps to protect her clothes from the various products he'd used. He found the towel screwed up on the dressing table and used it – without asking – to clean himself up. He did a thorough enough job, deciding he'd take a shower as soon as he got home. 

When he returned to the stylist, he handed him the towel. A glimmer of annoyance appeared on Stylist's face as he recognised his towel, but he did not complain and he used it to clean himself up too before dropping it beside him with a sigh. He watched as Tailor immediately went for his clothes and began to get dressed; though he didn't feel the need to dress so quickly himself. Rather, he reached for his box of cigarettes to finally have that much needed smoke. He lit up a cigarette as Tailor fastened up his pants and slid on his shoes. 

“So, next time.” He simply stated. Stylist cocked a brow. “You have my dimension number.” He added, turning his back on him as he picked up his shirt and shrugged it on, buttoning it up. 

“Indeed I do.” Stylist said, wearing a shit eating grin that the other man couldn't see, but could hear. 

“I'm interested to see if you'll do a good job. I'm difficult to please, y-you have been warned.” Tailor explained, loosely tying his tie before slipping on his suit jacket. Stylist gave him a good look up and down from his place on the sofa, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“You were pleased enough today though, huh?” He assumed in a cocky tone. Tailor didn't answer right away, he walked over to the mirror above the dresser across the room to straighten up and tighten his tie. 

“It was adequate.” He admitted, his tone light. Stylist scoffed. “Like I said, I am interested to see how you handle _real_ fun.” 

“Challenge accepted.” Stylist nodded. 

The two fell into silence, Tailor grooming himself in the mirror, Stylist puffing on his cigarette. It was a comfortable silence that both men were happy to stay in for as long as they needed to. Unfortunately though, that was not long. Stylist noticed the way Tailor's head whipped to the side, before he noticed the girl standing just a few feet away. The same girl who's hair and makeup he'd done for the charity auction.

Shit. _Where the fuck had she come from?_

He launched into action, hauling himself up from the sofa and scrambling for his clothes before darting behind one of the nearby screens. He was certain she'd seen his cock and bollocks despite his efforts to hide it. He mentally punched himself in the face for not getting dressed immediately like Tailor had… 

He was bound to get a kick out of this.

It was just the cherry on the cake that in his haste he'd happened to burn a hole in his pink jacket with his cigarette. Well, it looked like he was going to take the asshole's fashion advice after all.


	5. NSFW Art for: Slip Stitch (Tailor/Hair Stylist at RickCon'18)




	6. PDA (I.C/Reader with Tailor)

“Ugh, public transport. Now I remember why I rarely leave my house.” Tailor was stood beside me, bolt upright with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, chin lifted in his usual display of superiority. The people around him looked him up and down through the corner of their eyes, though he didn't seem to notice or care. 

“It's not so bad. This isn't peak time, there are usually far more people waiting to get the bus.” I told him, swinging my legs back and forth under the bench I was sitting on. There was a space beside me, but of course Tailor wasn't going to dirty his suit by taking it. “Besides, you're the one with the portal gun. You could've just-”

“Portalled directly into the house of my client? Absolutely not. That'd be incredibly rude. Not to mention it'd be the com-complete opposite of discreet. Some Ricks like flaunting around all their gadgets but I do not. What on earth would people think of me?” He questioned. I rolled my eyes, plucking my phone from my skirt pocket as I felt it vibrate with another message. 

It was I.C. He'd been texting me for a while, asking me what I was up to. I'd grinned every time I'd read his messages and this time was no different; I told him I was waiting for the bus after giving Tailor a hand with delivering a large commission of garments to one of his clients. I'd become something of an assistant to him since RickCon, helping him out here and there with little jobs when his Morty was otherwise occupied. 

“Who are you talking to?” Tailor asked me, and I jumped when I noticed him leaning over me, peering at my phone. 

“I.C.” I told him, frowning a little and shielding my screen. 

“Oh, private conversation, is it?” He rolled his eyes, tutting. 

“Not particularly. But what if it had been? We could've been… well, who knows what we could've been saying to each other.” I warned, smirking just a little. His top lip curled and trembled in disgust and he straightened back up. 

“Please don't plant images in my mind, it's bad enough I have to listen to the way you speak about him.” He sighed.

“You asked.” I pointed out, shrugging. “He's suggesting we go out to dinner tonight. He wants to take me to some place at the citadel-”

“Good grief do _not_ eat anything from the citadel.” He suddenly exclaimed dramatically.

“Why not?” I frowned. 

“I made that mistake once before; never again. I suggest, unless you want to spend the next week unable to move five feet from a restroom, you heed my advice, my dear. If there's anything I've learned during my godforsaken existence, it's that Ricks and Mortys should not be allowed in the catering business.” He grumbled, his shoulders hunching. 

“Tell that to my boyfriend!” I spat, a little too loudly and defensively. A few people looked my way. I cleared my throat and looked down at my phone. I.C had messaged me back, strangely enough asking me which bus stop I was at. Without thinking much of it, I told him my location. “I.C is awesome at what he does, I think you just got unlucky. I trust him, if he says this restaurant is good, it'll be good.”

“Alright, don't say I didn't warn you.” He grumbled. 

“And even if it's not, it'll be worth it so I can see him again. You know, it's been nearly a week since I last saw him.” I said, sighing softly. 

“Oh, that long?” Tailor said dryly, blatantly disinterested.

“We usually see eachother every day. Or at least every other day. But he's been busy with his business, and I've been helping you a lot, so we didn't see each other this week. But we've been talking on the phone every night before bed.” I rambled, smiling to myself. “Gosh, I miss him though.” 

“Mmm.” He hummed his bored acknowledgement and shifted on his feet, glancing up the road, searching for the bus.

“He sends me pictures, too, little snapshots of what he's doing, the places he's visiting. They always brighten my day. He's such a sweetheart; I can't believe he's with me.” I swooned, going into full heart-eyes mode.

“Oh, give it a rest. Save that crap for when you're with him, won't you? I didn't need to hear-”

Suddenly, without any sort of warning, a portal opened up a few paces up the street. The sound was unmistakable and Tailor and I (and everyone around us) looked over instantly to see I.C step through. My heart felt like it exploded and I shot up from my seat. 

“Rick!” I exclaimed, my face lighting up.

“Oh, bloody hell.” Tailor muttered. The people around us mumbled amongst themselves and started shuffling away, but I couldn't care less; I.C was walking towards us and I sprinted to close the gap. 

I practically leapt into his embrace and he lifted me up, spinning me in a circle as he chuckled into my ear. A few steps behind us, I heard Tailor scoff. I ignored him.

“Baby.” I.C murmured, squeezing me tightly before lowering me back onto my feet. “It's so good t-to see you again.” He whispered, capturing my face in his hands before diving forward to kiss me. As far as I was concerned the entire world disappeared around us and it was just he and I, sharing a tender kiss that took the breath from me. He tasted like sugar and cream, just like always, his sweet flavor the perfect representation of him as a whole. I moaned softly against his lips, pressing my body forward so we grew ever closer, my arms tightening around his shoulders. I just wanted more of him, all of him! 

“God, will you _please_ tone it down? You are in public.” Tailor snapped, huffing in annoyance. I broke away from I.C with a disappointed sigh, keeping my arms wrapped around him; though loosely. 

“Nobody's lookin’, we're good.” I.C murmured, smiling down at me with a sweet pink hue to his cheeks. “Let us have this, y-y-you miserable ass.” He added. 

“Miserable ass…” Tailor repeated in an irritated mutter. I glanced over I.C's shoulder to look at him; he shook his head and turned his nose up. “I simply want to keep my assistant's dignity intact.”

“Assistant?” I.C spat, twisting around to look at the other Rick with a comical look of annoyance on his face. Tailor blinked at him with confused innocence. 

“Babe, it's okay. I sort of am his assistant.” I chuckled sheepishly. “I've been helping him out, you know that.” I told him, brushing my fingers through his hair. He had it down, out of its usual ponytail, and I wanted to kiss him all over again. He looked so good!

“Hmm, I just don't like the way he says it.” He replied, narrowing his eyes. 

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, Mr. Whippy.” Tailor drawled, his brow raising and eyelids lowering in pompous indifference.

“Mr. what?” He responded, utterly confused. I cupped his cheek and turned his face to look at me. I.C wasn't British, I wasn't surprised that he didn't get it.

“Don't worry about it.” I whispered to him, pressing another kiss to his lips. Just a short one, but one that made him moan very softly in response.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He told me, squeezing me into his chest for another hug. 

“You surprised me.” I chuckled. “I'm glad you came.” 

“Well, I thought; why wait until later to take you out to dinner when I can spe-spend the whole afternoon with you as well? Y-you guys are done, right? You said you were heading back.” He pulled back and glanced between Tailor and me. Tailor simply grunted and turned his head, tightening the cross of his arms across his chest. 

“Please. D-don't let little old me come between you. I suppose I'll take the bus alone.” He said, his voice lilting with this _poor me, poor me_ tone. I rolled my eyes and directed my gaze to I.C as I spoke. 

“You'll survive.” I assured Tailor, finally slipping from I.C's grip and holding his hand instead. He turned around, settling beside me. 

“I'm surprised you don't have a… a chauffeur or something. I never pictured you as a public t-transport kind of guy.” I.C snorted, giving the tailor a once over with his eyes. 

“Oh, I'm certainly not. This is far from a common occurrence, I assure you. Summer begged me to borrow the Bentley for the weekend and so I had few options.” Tailor levelled his gaze to I.C's and it was then, seeing the two men in the same space, I noticed they each had different coloured eyes. The deep, warm brown of I.C's suited him, just as the piercing, icy blue of Tailor's suited him. It'd never occurred to me that different Rick's might have different eye colours… 

“The Bentley? Huh. This guy means business.” I.C chuckled, glancing at me with a certain look in his eye. Suspicion? No. Nervousness? Not really. “You ridden in it, baby?” He asked. 

Ah. Jealousy.

“I like your flying ice cream truck better.” I assured him with a grin, nudging him with my shoulder. 

“You do? Yeah. I like my ice cream truck too.” He smiled at me.

“Hmm, well, Bentleys _are_ an acquired taste… me-meaning you have to _have_ taste to appreciate them.” Tailor piped up, quirking a brow at the two of us. 

I.C laughed quietly, shaking his head and looking down at his feet. Tailor didn't like this; his face scrunching up a little before he composed himself, clearing his throat and tossing his head as if flicking away some hair, though his was perfect slicked back. 

“I wouldn't expect you to understand.” He added haughtily. 

“No, of course not. I wouldn't dare try, sir.” I.C retorted sarcastically, a mischievous smirk plastered all over his face. Tailor's eyes narrowed.

I glanced between the two men, deciding it would be a good time to split them up to prevent any more scathing remarks. The few occasions I.C and Tailor had interacted, there'd always been a sense of irritation between them. They didn't _hate_ each other, but I couldn't picture them having drinks at the bar, either. They'd come from very different backgrounds; well, no, their childhoods had been very similar based on what they'd each told me. But their lives had led them in two very different directions, had given them very different personalities, sometimes it was impossible to believe they were both Ricks.

I hugged I.C’s arm and looked up at him. “Shall we make a move?” I asked him quietly. An audible sigh escaped Tailor. I looked up to see the bright red double decker bus arrive. 

“Yes. Get out of here. At least I'll get the window seat on the way back.” Tailor said, his face twisting into a grimace as the doors opened for him. He took a very careful step onto the bus, his arms bent at the elbows, hands fidgeting. He was certain the bus was filthy… and though I hadn't said it out loud, he was probably correct. The unmistakable scent of urine gave me that impression. 

“See you soon, Rick.” I called to him. He didn't answer me, preoccupied with buying his ticket. I sighed and turned to I.C, who cupped my face in his hands again. 

“Madame Tussauds?” He suggested. I snorted and rolled my eyes playfully.

“You're such a tourist.” I teased him. He grinned, and then kissed me again. One thing I'd learned about I.C: he was far from afraid of PDA.


	7. Splish Splosh (I.C/Reader NSFW)

It had been a very hot day, a breeze was nowhere to be found and the sun had been beating down on me relentlessly. I'd been covered in a sheen of sweat since noon, and I'd found a small amount of relief from sitting on the cool metal steps that led up to the inside of the ice cream truck. There was air con inside, and shade provided by the roof, and so I'd been sat there for the afternoon with my book. Of course, the weather had meant it was a fantastic day for Rick, his ice cream truck had certainly been well appreciated at the park we were situated in, he'd had a regular flow of customers all day. Well, the sun was going down, and most of the families that had spent the day there had already gone home. Nobody had approached the truck in almost an hour, and so Rick was tidying up the van and packing up the supplies he'd been using all day; open boxes full of sprinkles, chocolate chips, pistachios, among other tasty toppings. Before he had a chance to tidy up completely, I stopped him.

“Hey, Rick.” I said, grabbing his attention from the ice cream machine he was just starting to wipe down. “Would you ever let me have a go at making an ice cream cone?” I asked. We'd been together for months now, and I often accompanied him on business days whenever I was free. Rick would be busy serving customers most of the time, but it was nice to just be near him, keeping him company and chatting while he worked. Plus, I got to see so many different places. The ice cream truck could fly (something that had given me the shock of my life the first time I'd rode in it), and so we visited many different planets, selling ice cream in the local parks. Still, despite being with him so often, and despite my offers to help him when it got busy, Rick always declined politely, telling me it wasn't as easy as it looked and he'd need to teach me how to use his kit first. I thought that with the park empty and no more customers to worry about, it would be a good time. 

“Y-you wanna have a go right now?” He asked, quirking a brow at me interestedly. 

“Sure. Why not?” I grinned, hopping up from my spot on the steps and placing my book on the side. 

“Alright, baby. L-let me just shut up shop and I'll give you a coaching session.” He chuckled, turning to pull the metal slider down to close up the service window. It darkened up the place a lot, and so he leaned over into the drivers area to flick a switch on the dash, and a fluorescent light came on above us. Next, he pulled the back door shut, leaning close to me and reaching behind me to do so. He looked me in the eye, smirking suggestively. It suddenly felt very intimate, being in the confined space with him. I giggled like a schoolgirl. “Now you gotta- i-i-it's all in the wrist action if you wanna make a good cone.” He told me. 

“Oh?” I settled into the space next to him in front of the main ice cream machine he used most often, the one that pumped out regular ice cream, not the stuff made with some kind of alien milk that could apparently send you blind if you ate too much. 

“Mhm. Y-you gotta be gentle with her, okay?” He said, grabbing a wafer cone from the stack sitting on the side of the machine. “Th-this lever here is what you want, and you start off slow, pulling it down just so… you can always give it more welly later.” He explained, demonstrating what I'd watched him do all day, slowing things down for me. 

“Got it.” I nodded, watching him closely as he pulled the lever, letting a flow of ice cream fill the base of the cone up, before it hit the rim. 

“And when you g-get to this point, y-you gotta start moving your wrist. Just in little circles like this.” He explained, tilting the cone around, encouraging the ice cream to make that coiled, swirly form that we all know and love. “Getting tighter and tighter until you get to the top. Then you let the lever go, and pull down.” He said, bringing the ice cream down and away, so the tip formed a cute little point. 

“Expertly done.” I grinned, giving him a thoughtful nod. 

“Why thank you.” He bowed, placing the ice cream in a little holding slot on the wall before grabbing another cone and handing it to me. “Y-you think you can handle that?”

“Pfft, I think so.” I rolled my eyes, snatching the cone from him. “It doesn't look _that_ hard.”

“Trust me, it ta-takes some practice.” He said, shooting me a warning look. 

“Really? If your fourteen year old grandson can do it, I can.” I nodded confidently. “Can I do a chocolate one?” 

“Sure. Go for it.” He smirked, pointing to the lever I needed with a gleam in his eye. Something told me not to trust that gleam, but I was feeling confident. 

“Okay. Here I go, my first ice cream cone. You'll wanna hire me after this, for sure.” I teased, holding the cone under the little spout and reaching for the lever. 

I took his advice, pulling the lever just slightly at first. Nothing happened. Just a little more… still, nothing came out. Okay, a _tiny_ bit more… there she goes. A thick stream of ice cream pumped out into the cone. Well, right off the bat there was one error. I greatly underestimated how much force the ice cream would hit the cone with, and when it dropped it unsteadied my hand, wobbling me and sending a loop of ice cream over the edge and onto my hand. 

“Shit.” I whispered, causing Rick to laugh beside me. In my distraction, I forgot to circle my wrist, and so more ice cream ran down the sides, dripping down my knuckles and falling into the tray at the bottom. I also accidentally put more pressure on the lever, and the ice cream came out faster, piling up a lot quicker than I could handle. I let go of the lever. It stuck. Rick laughed harder. “Rick!” I spat as the ice cream kept flowing thick and fast, I put my other hand out to catch it, my hands were full in seconds. In the panic, I dropped the cone, what's worse is that out of instinct my hips jumped forwards to try and catch it against the edge of the counter. I didn't do well thinking on the fly, and my brain obviously hadn't registered what exactly it was catching. Ice cream covered the front of my skirt, splattering all over my feet and legs, some even shooting upwards onto my blouse. I gasped at the cold temperature. 

It was all happening so fast, I didn't know what to do. Thankfully, Rick stepped in, pulling the lever upwards through his hysterics. I felt like I was in some sitcom, literally covered in ice cream as the canned laughter played overhead. 

“Yeah I should've said. Th-that lever sticks sometimes.” Rick told me with a shit eating grin, leaning up against the counter. I just stood there, hands full of ice cream, not knowing what to do. It was melting, dribbling down my arms, and so I lifted them up and licked them before it could soak into my sleeves. Oh, not that it made much difference, I was covered anyway. 

“Maybe that would've helped, yeah.” I sighed, dropping the ice cream into the tray a little too forcefully, splattering more ice cream over my front. “Fuck!” I groaned, looking down at myself, trying to flick lumps of ice cream from my chest but only making it worse with my sticky hands. Looking down had caused my hair to fall into my face, getting into my mouth. I sputtered, then tried to pull it out as carefully as I could yet still managing to get ice cream in my hair and on my cheek. It was one thing after another. In the end, I just dragged my hands over my front, cleaning my hands up because fuck it, the blouse was already past saving. The look on Rick's face when I did that...

“Y-y-you know, I have a cloth you coul-could’ve u-used.” Rick said quietly, clearing his throat and turning away from me, trying to find one clean enough to hand to me. 

“Yeah, well. If I'm gonna make a mess of myself I might as well make a real mess. You're right. It is harder than it looks.” I said, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. I'd gone in way too confident, that had been my error. Well, in my defense, the machine did screw up. I looked at Rick, still with his back to me, looking into one of the cupboards but not really doing anything. I raised a brow. “There's a clean one right here.” I said leaning over him and plucking it out. 

“Oh, right. Y-yeah.” He chuckled, sounding strange. He didn't turn around right away, staying with his head in the cupboard.

“Rick?” I questioned, rubbing the cloth over my chest. All it really accomplished was smearing.

“Mhm.” He answered, slowly straightening up and turning to me. He was pressing his lips together tightly, a weird look in his eye, and I could swear his cheeks were a little pink. His eyes dropped down to my chest as I scrubbed, then quickly flittered away. 

“Are you alright? I'm sorry. I should've listened. Now I've made a huge mess…” I sighed, gesturing to myself. It was all dripping down my legs now, melting and hitting the floor with little pitter patter sounds. “You don't need to help me clean it up, it's my mess. God, it's so sticky.” I said, peeling my shirt away from my skin where it clung to my breasts. Rick bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck. Just standing there. 

“It's- it's fine. Really. No harm done.” He told me, still avoiding looking at me for the most part, only taking little peeks at my ruined clothes. I frowned at him. He was acting extremely odd. 

“Rick, what's wrong? You look… you seem uncomfortable.” I said carefully, and he shook his head. 

“No, it's uh, it's… it smells really sugary in here, doesn't it? L-let me- I'll open the door.” He stammered, trying to move past me. The tight surroundings didn't allow for that easily, and the front of his body rubbed up against me as he passed. He ended up coated in ice cream too, but that wasn't what made me gasp. “Fuck.” He breathed, closing his eyes for a second before getting a grip and pushing the door open. He burst out of the van, taking a couple of steps away. 

“Rick, was that- are you-” I started, shaking my head dismissively. No way had I felt what I thought I'd felt… I followed him out of the van, staring at the back of his head as he stood there. He pulled the hair tie out of his hair and ran his fingers through it, shaking his head. I heard him let out a shaky sigh. “What's going on with you?” I asked, walking around to his front. He flinched, not seeming to want to look at me. He did though, and his eyes swept up the length of my body, his lips parting. 

“We, uh, we should clean that up. I-i-it will be a bitch if we let it dry and go sticky.” He mumbled, going to turn back. I stopped him, grabbing his hand. I glanced down, greeted only by the sight of the baby blue apron he was wearing, coming down to mid thigh. I took a chance, bringing my free hand to his abdomen, looking him in the eye as I trailed my hand down. I knew what I'd felt, I surely hadn't been imagining- there! A hard bulge in the front of his pants. Rick's breath hitched as my palm met it, and I gave it a few rubs. 

“Is that an ice cream cone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” I teased, laughing at my own joke. Rick didn't laugh, he just continued to stare at me with eyes glazed over, his brow furrowed. I walked him backwards, back to the van. He stumbled when he hit the step, falling onto his ass. Wordlessly, he shuffled back into the van, and I came with him, climbing on top of his lap and pulling the door shut behind us. I looked down at him, stroking my hands over his chest and rubbing up against his crotch, feeling my pulse quicken in time with his breaths. 

“Baby, I can- I should explain. Don't- don't laugh, o-or be freaked out. I-i-it's not that weird, it's actually pretty common! You'd be surprised, it's- fuck.” He groaned, looking down between my legs as I ground against him. 

“Go on.” I prompted, curious about what he was wanting to tell me. He put a hand out beside him to push himself up, but it slipped in the puddle of ice cream. I giggled. 

“I have a weird fetish.” He blurted out. I stopped moving, watching the way he massaged the melted ice cream in his hand, licking his lips as the squelching sound of it met our ears. 

“Okay.” I nodded. “What is it?” I asked. 

“It's uh… I like- I like food stuff. You know?” He said hesitantly. He had a very vulnerable look in his eye, one that told me he was terrified of rejection. 

“Like, whipped cream on the body kind of thing?” I asked.

“Uhh. Yeah.” He said, though he sounded unsure and bobbed his head from side to side, like I was only kind of right. “I mean, that's one facet.” 

“You can be open with me.” I reassured him, rubbing my hands over his chest again, circling my hips. He moaned quietly, putting his hands on my thighs and stroking up and down, smearing the ice cream that still covered my skin. He did so indulgently, rubbing in circles, squeezing and pressing his fingertips down. Okay, so maybe I was starting to get the idea.

“J-just… just being like this. C-covered in stuff. All sticky and messy and slip-slippery. Christ…” he trailed off, dropping his head back against the floor. His messy, chin length hair spread out around him, there was no denying he looked incredibly hot. My arousal peaked, and I ground down harder, quicker. 

“Being covered in food? That's your kink?” I asked. I hadn't meant it to sound judgemental at all, I was merely asking for clarification, but his face crumpled into something nervous. 

“Y-yes.” He admitted, though it sounded like a question. I smiled, then reached up to the counter where the ice cream machine’s tray was still full. I grabbed a mushy handful. 

“Where'd you want it, baby?” I asked. His face lit up and he pushed his upper body up, his hands slid around in the mess but he managed to stay up this time. He ripped at his bowtie, pulling it undone and tossing it aside, then popped the top few buttons of his shirt open. Without further question, I loaded the front of his shirt with ice cream. He gasped at the temperature, but his expression turned to one of bliss, especially when I used my hands to press against his shirt, mushing the ice cream underneath it around. He moaned loudly, grabbing one of my hands and bringing it to his face, licking and sucking at my fingers, covering his face in ice cream in the process. 

“Hhh, fuck, take- take your top off baby. L-let me see- I gotta see those tits.” He stammered, reaching for the hem of my blouse, not having the patience to unbutton it and instead pulling it over my head. I unclasped my bra for him, throwing it somewhere towards the front of the truck; it ended up dangling from one of the levers on the dash. “Ohh, god, look at you. I-i-it soaked right through.” He pointed out, reaching up and fondling my breasts with slippery hands, smearing melted ice cream over them. I had to admit, the lubrication it gave made the action feel great. 

I lifted my hips, pulling his apron out of the way and reaching for his zipper; opening it up and reaching in to find his cock, rock hard and hot, a contrast to the ice cream covering me. I gathered up some of the melted stuff from inside his shirt and wrapped my hand around his cock, using it as lube for me to stroke him with. His hips raised up off the ground and he practically wailed, panting loudly and bucking into my fist. My pussy throbbed at the sight. Rick was never this vocal in the bedroom. 

“Oh God, oh fuck. I gotta- I gotta fuck you. I gotta cover you in this stuff and have you ride my cock, baby, sliding around on top- top of me, all slippery and- ugh.” He grunted, clawing at his own clothes, trying to pull them off. I let go of his cock so I could help him, I had a lot more control over my limbs than he did, I was shocked at how desperate he was acting, so turned on and debauched. I was drenching my knickers at the sight. I managed to get him totally shirtless, then he was opening up a cupboard beside us, his hand searching around inside where I couldn't see, I could only hear clattering as he knocked things over inside. 

He pulled out a bottle of brown liquid, and if the colour didn't give it away I knew by the smell when he popped open the cap that it was chocolate sauce. He unceremoniously dumped a load of it out onto his chest with a big squelching sound that made me laugh, then dragged his hand through it, smearing it all over his body. I joined him, coating my hands in the stuff, I reached for his head and took great pleasure in rubbing it over the lower half of his face. He eagerly opened his mouth against my palm, licking what he could. I moaned involuntarily at the sensation of his tongue flicking over my hand, and pulled it away so I could lean down and kiss him. Rick wrapped his arms around me tight, squeezing us together so our chest met, spreading the mess to me, and he guided me back and forth so I was rubbing my clothed pussy against his exposed cock. 

While the act of being covered in gunk itself wasn't exactly a turn on for me, there was absolutely no denying that our bodies rubbing together, wet and slippery, felt incredible. I was beginning to see what he got out of it. 

Rick hummed against my lips, trying to communicate something to me. His hands were at my skirt, pulling roughly and I didn't need to break the kiss to know what he wanted. I shifted my position over him to allow myself to pull my skirt and panties down and kick them off my legs so that I was totally naked. His hands then found their way to my ass, covering me there too. Rick shuffled out of his own pants as he trailed his lips to my neck, smearing what was on his face there and licking it away. His hand wandered away from my body and before I had time to wonder what he was doing, cool, viscous liquid was dribbling over my back. I gasped in surprise, I wasn't sure if it was because he'd caught me off guard, or because it felt so much nicer than I was expecting. The bottle of sauce was dropped, then both hands were on me, sliding all over my back and down to my ass, slipping between my cheeks, up and down. Rick and I moaned in unison, it was clear exploring every inch of my body with a fine layer of runny chocolate was something he was enjoying immensely. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking smooth, b-baby.” He mumbled against my shoulder, looking down my spine as he continued to explore the tactile sensations.

His cock felt slick underneath me, and I wondered if it was down to me or the ice cream, either way I tried angling my hips, trying to push down onto him, needing so badly for him to fill me. Rick got the idea and brought a hand between us to grab his cock and guide it into me, covering our nether regions in chocolate sauce as he did. As he pushed into me, his hand moved to my clit, rubbing me in slick circles that were very audible. 

“Ohh hoh, yes, oh God that's incredible.” He moaned, his voice shaking with a few breathless chuckles. He pulled his hand away and wrapped his arm around my lower back, tilting my hips so my clit pressed against his pubic bone as he started to rock into me. Rick shaved his pubic hair, including his balls; everything down there. Now that I was aware of his love of smooth, slippery sensations, I understood why. I'd kept on top of shaving my own, just for him, and I appreciated it then more than ever. My clit slid smoothly against the solid plane of his pubic bone, not a rough texture in sight, and it felt _awesome_ ; the chocolate sauce definitely added to the pleasure. I'd worry about the potential yeast infection later.

“Ohh, please Rick, faster. I need you to fuck me faster.” I sighed, bracing my knees either side of his legs and using them to rut against him, but my position; laying flat on top of him, was preventing me getting any decent motion, especially with how I was sliding all over the place. 

“Oh, baby.” He groaned deeply, thrusting up into me fast and rough. The motion had me bouncing up and down his body, sliding against his chest back and forth. Everything felt so smooth, so messy, so slick. I'd never had so much fun. With a giggle, I reached for the bottle of chocolate sauce, squeezing some into my mouth and over my chin as Rick watched with lidded, deeply aroused eyes. I leaned down and kissed him, sharing the delicious treat with him. One of his hands moved to the back of my head, coating my hair in the stuff. It was everywhere. I loved it. I pulled back laughing with joy, and Rick laughed too, though his was deeper; unmistakably sexual. It was hard not to find the whole thing rather amusing, Rick looked crazy; the whole lower half of his face smeared with chocolate, it was all in his ears and hair too, no doubt I looked just the same. It was like the world's most X-rated food fight. 

Rick fucked me harder, more desperately, his face creasing in concentration as he let out little grunts of pleasure and exertion. His hands moved back to my ass, this time slapping my cheeks with his sticky palms. Spanking was something I was more than used to, it cropped up regularly in the bedroom, but the splat sound that emerged this time made me wheeze with laughter again. I was having way too much fun, even if it wasn't quite the same sort of fun Rick was having. 

“Ohh, oh my God.” I said breathlessly, burying my face in Rick's shoulder. 

“Unngh, fuck. I love it.” He growled into my ear, spanking me again, this time with both hands. More splatting sounds erupted; from the spanking as well as his hips slapping against me as he fucked me. I couldn't stop laughing, I felt so giddy and free. Laughing so hard whilst being fucked to the edge of orgasm had an interesting effect, I couldn't control myself, couldn't hold back, everything was so relaxed and loose, I came without a chance to stop myself. And when I did, a gush of liquid came with it. That shut me up.

“Oh, oh fuck.” I whined, my orgasm still rippling through me. How mortifying. Had I really just peed myself during sex? 

“Ohh shit yeah, fuck, squirt all over me, that's it. Fuck, that's so hot!” Rick growled, fucking into me with the new wetness making things even slicker. Thank God, I thought, as I realised I had in fact ejaculated, not peed. My arousal was not quelled, and I felt myself working towards a second orgasm, something I knew from my experience happened more easily after squirting. 

“Rick! I'm gonna cum again, please, don't stop, I'm gonna cum.” I said, no, _shouted_. We were lucky the park we were in was deserted.

“Yeah? You gonna squirt on my cock again? D-do it babygirl, cum all over me, make a mess. Th-then I'm gonna pull out an- and blow my load between your ass cheeks, s-sound good baby?” He said to me, his voice surprisingly controlled but extremely gravelly. Make a mess, I did. With a loud, high pitched gasp I was cumming again in spurts as he fucked me through my climax. I couldn't control it, it just went on and on, only stopping when Rick pulled out suddenly, thrusting his cock between my asscheeks as promised. I felt him shooting over my ass and the backs of my thighs, his cum dribbling down my legs and mixing into the mess already there. All the while he was moaning, deep and animalistic, into my ear. When he was done, he pushed his cock back inside me and rocked into me more slowly, more controlled, until his cock softened. I appreciated this, those final thrusts wringing out every last sizzle of pleasure, sending shivers through my body, leaving a warm, sated feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

“Mmm, Jesus…” I murmured as he pulled out of me for real. Rick's arms encircled my waist and he hugged me tightly, rubbing his face against my shoulder in the chocolatey gunge. His hands slid up and down my body, exploring every dip and curve greedily. I rocked my body against his some more, pressing my breasts to his chest and rubbing us together; I felt his nipples against my chest, and he moaned when he felt mine. “Rick.” I whispered, turning my head and burying it in the side of his face. 

“Mm.” Was his response, tired yet extremely satisfied. 

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” I whispered, chuckling quietly as the careless attitude that came when I was horny disappeared, and I came to terms with the state we were in. Rick laughed too, then sighed heavily as he shifted on the ground, turning us over so I was below him. Normally that would be pretty difficult to achieve in such a small space, but we were well lubed and we slid right over. He kissed me, long and tender, then moved down my body, kissing and licking at the chocolate sauce covering me. He sucked on my nipples, bringing them to peaks in his mouth. I wondered if he was going for round two. He scooted backwards in the truck, but it didn't take long for him to realise there wasn't enough space for him to sit between my legs and comfortably reach my pussy without screwing his back up. He gave up with a sigh. It was okay, I wasn't sure I had it in me to go for more anyway.

“I don't want this to stop.” He said quietly, stroking his hand over my stomach. I didn't say anything, I just reached down and held onto his hand. “You're probably not gonna wanna do this more than once.” He said sadly. 

“What? Rick. I loved it.” I said, my tone soft. “I had so much fun, you don't think I'm judging you, do-”

“No, I mean, as soon- as soon as you see what the clean up is like you aren't gonna wanna go through that shit again.” He said, looking up at me with an amused smirk. I laughed, relieved that his mind wasn't where I thought it was. “You'll be finding chocolate in every orifice three showers later.” He snorted. 

“I can deal with that.” I grinned, sitting up and kissing him. A real good smooch, loud and full of tongue. 

“I think we should- the best way to do this would be to find some alien gas station that has a car wash and jus-just hose this baby down.” He said, looking around the place. “And maybe each other.” He added hastily, staring at my breasts.

I looked around too, my eyes landing on my blouse, forgotten in the corner. I picked it up and wiped my face with it, then moved to mop up the stuff on my body. Rick followed suit, using his apron to clean himself up. Once we were as clean as we were going to be, we covered up as best we could; luckily, our underwear had fared rather well so at least we'd be semi-decent. 

“Baby.” Rick murmured as he stood up, holding his hand out to help me; I stood on my blouse to prevent myself from slipping over. Rick pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me and inhaling my scent. “That was…” he trailed off with a sultry chuckle that sounded more like a moan. 

“I never expected sex to feel like… like I'm playing a game, or something. That was incredibly fun, in a different way than normal.” I told him. 

“Did you like it?” He asked me, then I felt his tongue dart out and lick the space below my jaw bone. “Missed a s-spot.” He told me. 

“I really did. So much.” I said honestly. 

“Mm, I'm glad. We're gonna- we have to do that again. What's your favourite condiment? I'll stock up.” I said. His voice was so low and deep and sexy, it always was after sex. Also, when he woke up in the mornings; which was coincidentally the time of day we most often had sex. No connection there, of course…

“Mustard, but I'm not sure I want that going anywhere near my privates.” I snorted, and so did Rick. “I liked the chocolate. Maybe we can do something warm next time… melt some chocolate and let it cool down for a while, have some fun with that?” 

“Ohh, baby. You were made for me.” He said, kissing the side of my head, then nibbling on my neck. It tickled and I laughed openly. After a moment, he let go of me and started making his way towards the driver's seat of the van. “Alright, let's go find an alien race to mentally scar for life.”


	8. Pierced (I.C/Reader)

Rick's palm was sweaty as he held my hand, his grip way tighter than usual. I glanced over at him and watched as he gnawed at his bottom lip. 

“You okay?” I asked, squeezing his hand once. It seemed to startle him and he quickly looked at me.

“Y-yeah. I'm just- I'm about to have a needle shoved into me.” He reminded me, as if I'd forgotten the reason we'd come here. 

“You don't have to do this. I know I said I liked them but I didn't mean I thought you should get them.” I said softly.

“N-no! I want them. Originally I wanted to do this to please you, b-but the more I think about it the more I like the idea.” He told me, and he seemed honest enough. 

“We'll match.” I grinned at him. A smile appeared on his face and he seemed to visibly relax just a little. 

-

It'd come up in conversation a few nights ago. We'd been laying in bed together, I was the big spoon and I'd been idly playing with his nipples, rolling them between my fingers, flicking them from side to side, generally just fiddling with him like he so often let me do. He didn't seem to mind, and if he did he didn't mention it. Honestly I'd thought at the time that he was asleep, but the low chuckle in his throat that came when his nipples grew hard informed me that he was not. 

“Did I wake you?” I asked him. 

“No baby, I've been awake just enjoying being your toy. You like playing with me?” He murmured, breaking out of my grip so he could roll over to face me. 

“You know I do.” I laughed, bringing my hands to his chest, feeling his hard nipples against my palms. 

“Can I play with yours like that?” He questioned, quirking a brow mischievously.

“Of course.” I grinned. He looked down at my breasts, both of us were nude under the sheets. 

“I wouldn't wanna hurt you.” He whispered, remembering the piercings in my nipples. 

“I don't think you would. I know you're gentle.” I purred, closing the gap between us and wrapping my arms around his neck so our chests pressed together.

“They don't get sore?” He asked. I shrugged as best I could in my position. 

“Not really. Like I said, you're gentle.” I kissed his forehead once. “I've never thought to ask what you think of them.”

“Your nipple piercings? I like them. I think they're sexy.” He told me, tightening his hold on me and smirking. 

“Yeah? Good. I think they are too.” I grinned. He chuckled, looking down at my lips.

“Wh-what about on guys, you like them on dudes?” He asked me, looking back up to my eyes curiously.

“Hell yeah.” I giggled.

“You want me to get mine done?” He asked, catching me off guard. My lips parted and I struggled to respond for a while. 

“Woah. I mean, if you want them, I'm certainly not opposed. I think you'd look hot.” I smirked, kissing his temple, then his cheek.

“Yeah? I've often wondered about it…” He mused, just letting me shower his face with kisses.

“Rick, are you being serious? Do you wanna get your nips done?” I asked him, pulling back to get a good look at his face. He looked serious. 

“Yeah, fuck it. Why not?” He laughed. 

“It hurts.” I warned and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I've had piercings before.” He told me. I glanced at his ear. 

“Yeah, a lobe.” I snorted. 

“What, that not a real piercing?” He smirked in amusement.

“Oh, it's a real piercing. I'm just saying, the pain is way worse.” I told him truthfully and glanced off to the side and thought about it. 

“I'm sure I can handle it.” He shrugged. 

“Okay.” I laughed. “If you're sure.” 

“I'm dead sure.” He told me, stroking my spine up and down. “You'll come with me, right? Hold my hand?” He teased, leaning forwards so our noses touched. 

“Yeah, sure baby.” I told him with a laugh.

-

Honestly I'd thought it was just talk and he'd have forgotten about it by sunrise, but I was wrong. And so we were sat in the reception area of a local piercing studio, waiting to be called in. Rick had signed all the appropriate forms and we had paid, and now all we had to do was get it done! 

“Okay, I'm ready for you. Come on in.” The piercer, a woman covered in tattoos with bleached blond hair and a piercing across the bridge of her nose (among others), popped her head out of the door and called for us. Rick took a breath before rising to his feet, tugging me along with him. The room was small but looked neat, organised and clean, and the piercer shut the door behind us.

Rick only let go of my hand when he was asked to take his shirt off. I held onto it for him, and the piercer came around to his front wearing a pair of gloves and holding a cotton ball soaked in some sort of antibacterial cleanser. 

“So we're going for both nipples, right? Anything funky with them? Some folks like 'em done on an angle.” She said as she leaned in and wiped the area around his nipples thoroughly. 

“Uhh, just normal- like, straight across.” He told her before going right back to gnawing on his lip. Poor guy looked terrified!

“Awesome. That makes my life a lot easier.” The piercer laughed, discarding the cotton in the bin before turning to the counter behind her. When she turned back, she had a cocktail stick dipped in ink in her hand. “I'm just gonna mark you up, we'll do it standing coz sitting down can change the angle and they'll come out wonky.” She explained. 

She stared intently at his chest as she carefully lined up the cocktail stick, pressing a little dot onto each side of each nipple. She looked at him from different angles, like analysing a piece of artwork or something. Well, I was often inclined to do the same… 

“Okay. They look good to me, you wanna check in the mirror, see if you're happy?” She smiled, straightening up and gesturing to the wall mounted mirror next to him. Rick turned and had a look, then showed me.

“What do we reckon?” He asked. I studied his nipples more closely than I ever had before, and came to my conclusion. 

“They look even.” I nodded with a smile. Rick continued to stare at me for a while, gnawing on his lip. His cheeks were a little pink and his breath was coming quick. Despite all this, he turned back to the piercer.

“Ok, we're good.” Rick nodded, then he was told to take a seat on the reclined lounger in the center of the room. He settled into it, clearing his throat and fidgeting for a while. I wanted to approach him, give him my hand to hold, but at the same time I didn't want to get in the way. It was as if the piercer could read my mind though. 

“If he needs some moral support, I'll be starting with the right one, so you can come and stand over here.” She said. 

“Hah, moral support.” Rick chuckled, but he couldn't hide the nerves in his voice. I came over and offered him my hand. Despite the bravado, he took it. 

“We're going to use barbells, not rings. It'll help with the healing process since there isn't as much pressure on it, but if you're desperate for rings I can do that too. But like I said, I recommend bars.” The piercer said as she prepared everything she needed. 

“B-bars are fine.” Rick nodded. I stroked my thumb over the back of his hand and gave him a quick kiss to the temple while the piercer's back was turned. 

“Alright then. We're ready when you are.” She said turning around and dragging over a portable station, needles and jewelry were all laid out. Rick made a weird, involuntary noise.

“Fuck it, l-let's get on with it.” He said, taking another breath to steady himself. 

“Alright. Just relax for me, I'm just gonna use the clamp so I know I'm piercing straight through. Bear with me while I line this up.” She said, trapping his nipple in this clamp thing that looked like a cross between a pair of scissors and some tweezers. It was interesting to see it all happen, I hadn't dared look when I had mine done.

“Ahh fuck!” Rick cried out, gripping onto my hand. It stunned me, and the piercer and I simultaneously looked up at him. 

“I'm sorry, this can pinch.” She told him. 

“Oh shit, that was just the- I thought you'd-” Rick stammered, staring down at his un-pierced nipple. His face went bright red immediately. 

“I'm afraid we aren't done yet.” The piercer chuckled. “Don't worry, I'll tell you when I'm going to do it.” 

“Oh fuck, fuck.” Rick said under his breath. 

“Don't worry, it's all over in a couple of seconds.” I assured him. 

“That's right. The worst part is just waiting for it to happen. But we're ready now. Okay. I'm going to pierce you on your third exhale, okay? Try to stay as still as possible, don't move.”

“Fuck, okay, fuck.” Rick nodded, closing his eyes. Holy shit, he was bricking it. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to swear so much.” He hastily added. 

“I've heard it all before. Okay, breathe in for me, nice and slow. That's it, and out.” I watched as she lined up the needle with a steady hand. “In again, aaaand out. This last one I'm going to do it. In…”

My heart was pounding just watching. 

“And out.” She said, immediately pushing the needle through. Rick's exhale turned into a cry of agony pretty damn quick, and my hand was crushed in his grip. He thrashed his legs as he groaned, breathing heavily through bared teeth. 

“Fuuuuck!” He growled. 

“Stay still, we're almost done with the first one.”

“Almost?! Fuck! It's not over?” He all but yelled. 

“Stay still.” She repeated. “I'm putting the jewelry in now.” 

I winced. From experience this was about as painful as the initial piercing. Rick must've agreed cause there was more yelling and growling. 

“Oh fuck! Oh God, please, s-stop. Fuck!” Rick shouted, his nails digging into my hand. 

“Ow!” I hissed. 

“It's done!” The piercer sighed in relief, straightening up.

“Ohh my God. Oh my God. That was fucking awful.” Rick was whining, panting like he'd done a marathon. 

“It looks fucking awesome though, look!” I grinned, prying my hand out of his grip. 

“Does it? I do-don't- I don't wanna look.” He whimpered, opening his eyes only to look at me. 

“Do you want a little break before I do the other one or shall I get it over and done with?” The piercer asked. 

“No! N-no, that's enough, I'm not- I don't want-” Rick shook his head and sighed heavily. I petted his arm.

“Baby, you paid for both, the worst part's over. You know what to expect now!” I assured him. 

“I don't want it! I ca- I can't. Fuck! It hurts. It's throbbing. Is that normal?”

“Yeah it's very normal, it should wear off in a few hours.”

“A few hours!?” Rick balked, practically sobbing, his hand moved towards his chest but I caught it. 

“Don't touch it.” I warned him. “Just look at it, you'll feel better once you see how cool it looks!” I said. 

“Ohh god.” He whined, taking a tentative glance down. “Oh shit, that's- wow- is- is it bleeding?” His voice was all wobbly. 

“A little. That's normal too.” The piercer assured him. “Are we doing the other one?” She questioned, beginning to look a little vexed. 

“Oh, shit… fuck… I guess so? I don't know.” 

“Okay, same process, three breaths, I go on the third. Ready? Let's do it now, then it's all over.” She said, picking up the clamp again. She leaned in.

“Wait! N-no. I can't- I feel light headed.” 

“Are you okay baby? Do you need some water?” 

“I'll get some water.” 

“Baby? Look at me.” 

“Is he still with us?” 

…

Rick looked completely dumbstruck when he came around. The piercer had prepared a glass of water and had brought a chocolate bar for him before leaving to give us a minute while he recovered fully. I'd been stroking his arm and trying not to panic the entire – what? – minute? That he'd been out. 

“Shit. D-did I pass out?” He mumbled as he came to, sitting up. I placed my hand on his shoulder to keep him down.

“Take it slow, okay? Drink some water.” I handed him the plastic cup and he took a few tentative sips. 

“Oh God, how fucking embarrassing.” Was his reaction to it all. I handed him the chocolate bar. 

“It's okay. They see it every day. You should eat that.” I told him, continuously stroking his arm in a way I hoped was soothing him. My poor baby...

“Did she do the other one?” He asked, looking down. 

“Of course not.” I shook my head. “I don't know if it's a good idea to-”

“No. Me neither.” He interrupted. 

“Anyway, I kinda like just the one. Two would be too much.” I offered him a little smile.

“Lucky thing I made a scene, then.” He snorted, handing me the cup so he could open the chocolate bar. 

“You're fine. I'm sure they've had worse.” 

“I don't know, it's all flooding back to me now and I th-think I may have made a dick of myself.” He shook his head, laughing in self deprecation. He sighed and ate the chocolate bar.

“Well, no, not-” he was giving me a look that told me I shouldn't bother denying it. “Like I said. They've probably seen worse.” I repeated instead. 

I let him eat, relieved that he seemed a lot calmer than before. The colour was returning to his face too; he'd looked scarily pale when he'd passed out. The piercer returned to the room after a moment to check on us. 

“Feeling better?” She asked.

“Yeah.” He said, avoiding eye contact. “I'm good, I uh, I think I'm just gonna stick with the one piercing.” 

“No worries. Would you like to reschedule for the other one?”

“No.” He was quick to respond.

“Alright. We'll get you a refund for the second one before you leave, but feel free to come back another time.” She told him. 

“Yeah I doubt you'll be seeing me again.” He chuckled, stuffing the last of the snack into his mouth. “I think I'm good to go. Can I stand up yet?”

“Of course, but take it slow and sit down if you feel any dizziness.”

Rick nodded and shifted to sit on the edge of the seat. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror.

“Wow, it does look pretty good, don't it?” He grinned. 

“I told you! Worth the pain?” I asked, smiling at him through the mirror. He laughed in uncertainty.

“I don't know yet. W-we'll see how it heals.” 

“Let me get you your aftercare kit. I'll explain to you how to take care of it.” The piercer told him, disappearing off again.

“God, you look so badass!” I exclaimed, unable to take my eyes off his reflection. “I love it. Do you love it?”

“I do. It looks better than I thought it would.” He admitted, rising to his feet slowly. 

“You good?” I asked him.

“I'm good.” 

“Good. I'm driving us home, though.” I told him sternly. He nodded a little sheepishly at me. I came around the seat so I could take his hands. “I'm proud of you, baby!” I grinned, looking down at his new piercing. 

“Jesus, don't be.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I know how much it hurts, and you did it!” I cheered, squeezing his hands and going onto my tip-toes so I could peck his lips. 

“Did uh, did you faint? Wh-when you had yours done?” He asked me. I was hesitant to answer, not wanting to make him feel worse. 

“It doesn't matter, everyone's different!” 

“You didn't, did you?” He deadpanned.

“No.” I whispered, averting my eyes as I heard him sigh. I couldn't tell what was hurting him more; his nipple or his pride.


	9. I.C's suit fitting with Tailor

“ _This_ colour? Are you absolutely sure about that?” 

It was going to be a long day, Tailor knew that much. What he did not know was why on earth Ice Cream Rick, of all people, had booked an appointment for a suit fitting with him. It wasn't as if he had the money or the taste to pull off one of his suits. Especially if the whole thing was going to be done in pastel _yellow_ for Christ's sake. 

“Yes. T-totally sure. She says she likes that colour on me.” I.C replied to the tailor's snarky question with an undeterred smile on his face. 

“Well yes, I'm sure she does, but not in this volume.” Tailor scoffed, scowling down at his book of fabric samples. “An-and I don't even use this fabric for suits. It's far too thin, I use it for linings. A subtle hint of colour. Only an idiot would walk around wearing a suit in this colour.”

I.C cocked a brow, glancing down at the suit Tailor had decided on that day. Emerald green shot with magenta, the colour shifted in the light. He would question it, but he couldn't be bothered to listen to the hour long lecture that would no doubt follow. 

“If it's too thin, source me a fabric that's suitable. But I'm having this colour. It matches a dress she has…” I.C insisted scratching at his goatee as he looked down at the fabric once again. He thought it would look pretty cool, paired with a powder blue shirt. 

“Oh, bloody hell, you're going to be matching? Christ.” Tailor sighed, turning on his heel and pulling out a second book from his shelf, containing more fabric samples. “If you insist on going with yellow, may I suggest something to break up the colour? Stripes, perhaps. That might just work with the correct accessories. Very Dick Van Dyke.”

“Huh?” 

“You've seen Mary Poppins, haven't you? The scene with the chalk pavement drawing? Oh, never mind. Just make sure you find yourself a nice pair of white brogues and a cane.” Tailor muttered somewhat sarcastically, slamming the heavy book down on the desk and flicking through it until he found what he was looking for. “This. With plain white trousers.” Tailor suggested. 

This fabric was mostly white, but had yellow stripes of varying widths running along it. I.C pursed his lips as he looked at it. 

“Alright. I will trust you on this. And what about the lining, you mentioned lining?” He nodded, looking back up at Tailor who gave a long suffering sigh and pointed towards the original choice. 

“If you must have that particular fabric somewhere, then I suppose it would be fine to line it with that.” Tailor said, bringing a smile to I.C's face. “And what are you wearing it with? Would you like a shirt as well or are you just springing for the suit and trousers this time?”

“Just the suit and pants. I'm not- well, I have a shirt in mind.” 

“Don't tell me it's a pink polka-dot eyesore, or-or something along those lines.” Tailor grumbled, jotting something down in a notebook – not dissimilar to the one I.C owned for his ideas, he thought – on a page with 'Mr. Whippy’ written across the top. I.C still didn't understand what that was about. 

“No. It's a p-pale blue, plain one with white buttons.” He said defensively, though he wouldn't admit that he did in fact own a pink polka-dot shirt as well. 

“Hm, not terrible.” Tailor nodded thoughtfully. “I'll allow it.” He added.

“Oh, thank goodness.” I.C rolled his eyes in mild annoyance. 

“So what's the occasion for this? And you'd better not say a funeral because I'll throw you out of here.” Tailor asked, closing up the fabric books and carrying them back over to the shelf where they belonged. He slid them into their specific places carefully. 

“No.” I.C frowned. “It's our anniversary. Six months.” 

“You know, that's not really an anniversary that counts for anything, I'd at least wait a year before splashing out on a Sanchez suit. Not th-that I'm trying to talk myself out of a paying customer, but for the record, I don't do 'mates rates’. You'll be paying full price whether you're dating my assistant or not.” Tailor informed him dryly, and I.C tutted and rolled his eyes. 

“I wasn't expecting that, w-we're hardly good friends anyway.” 

“How you wound me.” Tailor whined dramatically shortly before dropping all emotion from his face. “Get up on there, would you? I-I-I'm ready to take your measurements.” He continued, pointing towards the low pedestal in the middle of the room. 

The same pedestal that I.C's girlfriend to be had been creaming her knickers on during her own dress measuring earlier that year… Tailor had been tempted to mention it, but then again, he wasn't completely heartless. 

Tailor brought a tape measure and his notebook over to I.C, who'd stepped up onto the pedestal and was standing rather awkwardly. 

“You can relax, you know. I-if you're all stiff my measurements will be off.” Tailor said, slipping off his own suit jacket and hanging it off the back of a nearby chair.

“I'm-I'm perfectly relaxed, I've just never been fitted for anything before. I don't know how to stand.” I.C admitted a little sheepishly, watching Tailor come over to him uncoiling his rolled up tape measure. 

“You don't say.” He mused, looking I.C up and down analytically, considering where to start. “Well, just stand naturally. Don't hold your breath, just be… hmm.” He suddenly narrowed his eyes. 

“What?” I.C frowned. 

“Those won't do. Take your trousers off, please.” 

“ _What?_ ” I.C questioned, his tone incredulous. 

“Those trousers are too baggy, I won't be able to get an accurate inseam measurement, it'll be easier if you just remove them. Keep the shoes on, however.” He explained, looking up at I.C with his signature bored expression, holding out his hand. He was waiting. 

I.C sighed and started to unbuckle his belt, fumbling as he did. If he was awkward before, he sure as hell was a lot worse now. 

“If you're worried I'm going to laugh at how small it is, I assure you I'm a complete professional. I'll only tell my _closest_ friends about it.” He added dryly, a smirk tugging the corner of his lip. I.C realised he'd never seen anything so close to a smile on his face before. 

With a huff, he dropped his drawers – however awkward that might be with his shoes still on – and handed them to the other Rick, who walked across the room to hang them up neatly on a nearby clothes rack. 

“That's better. Now, like I said, just relax and stand naturally. This should be quick and painless.” He said, returning to I.C and holding the tape measure between his two hands. “We'll do the chest measurement first. Again, don't hold your breath.” 

Tailor stepped in front of the other Rick and briefly wrapped his arms around him, under his arms, and brought the tape measure around his torso. He took a few seconds to ensure it was level all the way around and adjusted it so that it was snug, but not too tight. Then he released him and turned to jot down the figure in his notebook, sitting on a portable table just behind him. He then walked around to I.C's back and stretched the tape out across the tops of his shoulders. 

“So,” he started, simply to make conversation. “Where are you taking her for the anniversary?” 

“Hm? Oh. I'm- well, I'm- I think…” I.C stammered, fidgeting a little. Tailor's eyes slid from the tape measure up to the back of his head curiously. “Honestly? I don't know.” He finally admitted with a disappointed sigh. 

“You don't know?” Tailor repeated, moving to make a note of the next measurement before going over to his side, taking I.C's wrist in his hand and positioning his arm just right. He took the measurement from the top of his shoulder and down to where the jacket sleeve would fall. 

“No. I-I-I'm actually kind of shitting myself at this point. I wanted to take her out somewhere real fancy, expensive, jus-just go all out, you know? But all the places I can think of are fully booked. Th-they have waiting lists!” I.C lamented.

“Oh, well that's no problem. The owner of _Park Chinois_ is a client of mine. I could get you in. That's if it's in your budget, this is a very high end restaurant we're talking about.” Tailor told him, surprising even himself; he wasn't sure where the offer had come from. 

By the look on his face when I.C slowly turned to stare at Tailor, neither did he. His eyes were comically large and his mouth was hanging wide open. 

“You'll catch flies.” Tailor commented briefly.

“Are you fucking serious?” I.C exclaimed, his voice much higher in pitch than usual. Tailor chuckled to himself, but there was an edge of regret in its tone. 

“Hmm. I could do it. I'd have to offer them a discount on their next purchase, but they're putty in my hands; they'll do it. That's if that's really what you want to do, has your girlfriend told you she'd like a slap up meal?” Tailor asked, noting down another measurement before pausing, crossing his arms and looking up at the other man. 

“Well, no. I just thought that'd be the best thing- the most romantic thing-” 

“Yes, taking out a second mortgage to pay for a meal and a suit. How very romantic.” Tailor rolled his eyes and immediately I.C was scowling at him. 

“Listen, I don't know who you think you are – or who I am for that matter – but I can afford to splurge every once in a while. I might not drive a- a Bentley or whatever the fuck, but don't forget I own a business. A pretty successful business, actually.” 

“Alright! Must've touched a nerve. I am sorry you feel that way about your money situation, I didn't realise you were so sensitive.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” I.C grumbled, half tempted to storm out. But that'd only give him more ammunition. 

“I suppose I can fuck off along with the offer of getting you that table for two?” Tailor's eyelids lowered, his face deadpan. I.C kept his mouth shut. They were quiet for a while, and finally Tailor returned to taking measurements.

“Do you think she'll like it?” I.C asked, his voice timid. “You spend a lot of time with her, maybe you know a different side of her. Help me out here.” 

“Hmm, well, what do you usually do on your dates?” Tailor questioned. 

“Well, a bunch of things. Lately she's been showing me around London. I suppose it's her way of returning the favour of what I do for her; I like to take her to different planets, and we'll just sit up on the hood of the truck and eat ice cream together, talking and enjoying the scenery. Then other times we'll go out to small towns or villages, find a l-little family run coffee shop or restaurant and eat there. We'll go on walks, sh-she likes nature reserves. Sometimes we'll just book out a hotel room somewhere and spend a weekend just- well, I live with Beth and the kids, she lives with her family, so it's a good chance to get some alone time.” I.C explained, staring off into space. 

“First of all, gross. Second of all, all of that sounds pretty low-budget and _quaint_ , I suppose. Does she honestly strike you as the type to want to go out to dinner somewhere like _Park Chinois_?” Tailor proposed, taking the outseam measurement of his leg. I.C was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Tailor let him mull it over as he scribbled in his notebook. 

“Hmm, maybe not. I don't know, I just want her t-to be happy, I want to let her know how much I appreciate her and- and I guess I don't know the right way of doing it.” He finally said, sighing heavily and chewing on his bottom lip.

“Perhaps, I don't know, _speaking to her_ may help? Just a-”

“Watch where you're putting your hands!” I.C suddenly hissed, jolting away from Tailor who was kneeling on the edge of the pedestal. He stared up at the other Rick with a blank expression, completely unaffected by his outburst.

“Inseam. I'm measuring your bloody inseam, trust me, I don't want to touch your shrivelled up mole-rat, thank you very much. I'll leave that to my assistant.” Tailor quipped, trying again now that I.C was a little more prepared. “Anyway. I suggest you speak to her and ask her what she'd like to do. Then you can't go far wrong.”

“I wanted to surprise her.”

“You don't make things easy for yourself, do you? I'm going to measure your seat, which is basically your arse, so don't think I'm copping a feel, okay?” Tailor said absentmindedly, wrapping the tape measure around him. “In that case, I have no advice to give, you're on your own. However, the offer is there, if you'd like me to pull some strings.”

“Y-y-you'd seriously do that for me?” I.C questioned, looking at Tailor in a light he'd never seen him. He couldn't help but feel touched, underneath all of the surprise and disbelief. 

Tailor looked up to meet his eyes and promptly scowled, huffing out a breath before spinning on his heel and scribbling in his notebook again. He was rough with his pen this time, clearly irritated. 

“I'm not doing anything for _you_.” He muttered, much quieter than he'd normally speak. “Anyway, I'm done. You can get dressed now.” 

I.C stared at him for a while, cogs turning in his head. His stomach churned with something deeply unpleasant and his heart rate picked up. He shakily stepped down from the pedestal and rushed over to where his pants were hanging up, suddenly feeling far too exposed in front of Tailor. He dressed quickly, chewing on his bottom lip until it was swollen and sore.

A number of unwelcome images were flitting through his mind; Tailor and his own girlfriend spending time together in this very room, alone. Long hours, late into the night. The few times they'd all been together he'd noticed the way Tailor looked at her, he'd thought nothing of it at first but he _really_ looked at her; intense, holding her eye contact for far longer than necessary. And then there were the subtle touches, how he'd sometimes touch her hair to neaten out flyaways, or place a hand on the small of her back when they were talking. On a number of their dates, I.C had turned up to her house and _he_ had been there, apparently helping her get ready. So he'd seen her undressed, hadn't he? Must've done, at the very least for her dress fitting with him all those months ago. She was beautiful, of course, any man would…

He let the thought fall flat and frowned to himself.

“Rick.” He started, his back to the other man. He heard him hum in acknowledgement. “Do you- uhh, well, are you-” He kept stalling on his words, he could not for the life of him get them out. 

“Spit it out, I have another client arriving soon.” 

“You're doing it for her, aren't you? You'll book us the table and give the owner a discount on your work for her sake.” I.C pointed out, turning around to look at him. Tailor raised his head to meet his gaze, eyes slightly widened. 

“Who else? She's been a real help to me these past few-”

“Do you have feelings for her?” Came his follow up question, shutting Tailor up instantly. 

The room was silent for a while, the two men simply staring each other in the eye.

“Yes. I'm in love with her, com-completely head over heels.” Tailor started, straightening up and rolling his eyes, totally breaking eye contact as he disinterestedly continued with what he was doing; rolling up his tape measure. “That's why I'm going through all this hassle; so she can go on a bloody date with _you_ – Christ, what're you thinking? Get out of here. Morty will take your partial payment as you leave, I-I-I expect the rest when you come for your fitting once the suit is done. I'll make any necessary adjustments then.” 

I.C was hit with a whole host of emotions, one after the other, and he didn't have time to work them out. Instead, he simply found himself nodding like a dumbass and scurrying towards the door. Before he left, he turned and cleared his throat before gearing himself up for what he was about to say.

“In- in that case. Would you- I'd appreciate it if you did, ahh, speak to the owner about that table. She deserves to be spoiled for just one night, doesn't she?” 

“I will do my best and let you know by the end of the week.” Tailor replied without looking up, he was back at his desk, doing what appeared to be busywork. 

“Thank you, Rick. You know, this is really going to-” 

“It's nothing. Anything for the love of my life, do take care of her, won't you?” 

I.C could hear the smirk in his voice and clenched his teeth, embarrassment rising hot below his skin. He left before he had the chance to say anything else. 

Asshole.


	10. Profiteroles (I.C/Reader)

It was sinful. Absolute gluttony at its finest. 

It was okay, though. I didn't eat that way every day, and nobody was around to see it. I could keep a secret!

“Knock, knock! Sorry baby, I know i-i-it's annoying when I just portal in but I-” 

_Oh, bollocks._

I.C stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me, tucking into my party sized box of profiteroles and warm chocolate sauce… alone. At breakfast time. Still in my pajamas. 

“I was in a hurry but maybe it can wait.” He finished, smirking a little at the sight before him. 

“Don't judge, okay? These were on offer and they're bloody delicious.” I grumbled, dipping one into the pot of melted chocolate and popping it into my mouth in one go. Well, he was bound to see me at my worst sooner or later. 

“You're eating a chocolate and cream based dessert… without me?” He questioned, looking hurt. I smiled sheepishly at him with chocolate sauce still clinging to my lips. I pushed the box a little in his direction.

“I'm sorry, Rick. It's not too late for you to join me.” I suggested, licking my lips. He chuckled and strolled over to me, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. He picked up one of his own, scooping up a generous amount of the chocolate sauce. He ate his with a little more dignity, biting it in half. Some of the cream burst out and dropped onto his hand and he licked it away quickly. He sighed softly as he chewed.

“These _are_ bloody delicious.” He mumbled with his mouth full after putting the second half into his mouth. I nodded and grinned, reaching for another one. “S-so what, you uh, you just eat this stuff for breakfast?”

“Not always!” I assured him, biting into it. The cream burst out of this one too, and I mimicked his action of licking it from my palm. I.C watched my tongue attentively, a smirk lifting the corner of his lips. “This is a one off, I assure you.” 

“Ah, okay then.” He nodded, but he didn't look like he believed me.

“I'm telling the truth!” 

“I don't doubt that!” He laughed, shit eating grin planted firmly on his face. I narrowed my eyes and stuck my finger in the chocolate sauce, reaching out to paint a stripe down his cheek. He flinched but laughed louder, grabbing my wrist and wrestling it back in my direction. He managed to force me to smear my own cheek with the remainder. 

“You'd better not start a food fight in here!” I warned through fits of giggles. 

“ _Me?_ You started it!” He retorted, releasing me and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He licked away the chocolate sauce as I did the same. 

“You provoked me.” I teased. 

“Of course I did.” He rolled his eyes playfully and grabbed a profiterole, stuffing it into his mouth in one go. 

“You missed a spot.” I nodded towards his face, noting the smudge of chocolate sauce near the corner of his mouth. 

“You get it.” He smirked as he chewed. I cocked a brow, then daringly leaned across the table, taking his face in my hands. My tongue darted out and licked it away. He cracked up, laughing through his nose and leaning back for a second, swallowing down his mouthful. He kissed me, he still tasted like chocolate and I opened my mouth for him. 

He leaned into me quickly, slipping his tongue inside my mouth and flicking the tip of my own. I turned my head and tilted my chin, deepening the kiss, craving more of his sweet taste. He was a moreish kind of guy… though eventually he reached his hands up to where mine were still holding his face, and he peeled my grip from him so he could pull back. I immediately whined in disappointment, and he chuckled in response. 

“Relax, I'm only stopping so you can get up and sit on my lap.” He whispered. I was up out of my seat and around the other side of the table in a flash, straddling him. The chair creaked under our combined weight and I flashed him a nervous look. He snorted, wrapping his arms around me and supporting my butt with both hands. 

His tummy felt a little plush against mine, and I knew the both of us had gained a teensy bit of weight since being together; not a lot. Just some extra padding. We both loved our sweets far too much, and neither of us had the self control or the responsibility to tell the other to go steady. We ate ourselves to the point of feeling sick sometimes, and this isn't even counting the times we brought food into the bedroom. It was a good thing neither of us minded a little extra cushion, I personally found his little belly rather cute, and he'd told me he liked my shapely thighs exactly the way they were. And so, neither of us were rushing to do anything about it.

We were terrible influences on one another.

Speaking of, I reached behind me to drag the box of profiteroles closer to us, and plucked one out. I covered it completely in the chocolate sauce before offering it to him. He ate it out of my hand, biting half of it, then the other half. I ran my cleanest finger along his lips to remove the chocolate sauce, and without prompting him he started sucking my fingers clean. I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head at him as he put on a show. 

He was making it exaggeratedly sexual, moaning lewdly and tilting his head this way and that as he slid his lips up and down each digit. I watched him with raised brows, knowing full well he wasn't actually trying to be sexy. 

“You know, you're far too good at that. You're raising suspicion.” I said, pulling my hand away from him before he started deep throating it. 

“Too good at what? I just like chocolate.” He shrugged innocently. Nodding to the box of profiteroles he added; “Another, please.”

I snorted and shook my head at him, offering him another one. 

“What did your last slave die of?” I questioned, he mumbled something in response but I couldn't understand a word, I just snickered. I gave him a closed mouth kiss while he still had his mouth full and he gave me a surprised look. 

“You tryin'a steal the food from my m-mouth now?” He teased, his voice still muffled by the pastry. I laughed and hugged him, wrapping my arms tightly around him and resting my head on his shoulder. I could hear him swallow, we were so close. “I'm empty. Either kiss me or give me another one, baby.” He whispered, giving my butt a good squeeze with both hands. 

“I think it's your turn to feed me.” I said, straightening up again and opening my mouth. He looked down at my mouth, then back up at my eyes. He finally reached for a profiterole, but instead of offering it to me he put it straight into his own mouth. I was offended for a split second, but then he was leaning forward. “Oh, we're having a lady and the tramp moment?” 

I.C hummed his agreement and I shook my head at him in amusement. I closed the distance between us, biting into the other side of the profiterole. Cream, of course, went everywhere, but neither of us particularly cared. We'd been a hell of a lot more covered in food before, so we simply laughed like a pair of kids, our lips meeting amongst the sticky, delicious mess for a few short seconds. 

When we pulled away we were a state; I had cream down the front of my pajamas, he had a smudge of chocolate on his shirt. Our mouths were covered in a combination of the two, and we set to work cleaning ourselves up, licking away whatever we could. 

“I'm surprised you haven't tried to escalate this.” I admitted. I could _feel_ that he was enjoying this a lot more than he was letting on; our proximity to thank for my awareness. I wiggled my hips in his lap to make my point and he visibly shuddered.

“Ugh, I have to- hmm…” he sighed, looking down at my chest. “I can't stay long. I have somewhere to be.”

“Oh? Can it not wait?” I questioned sadly, flashing him the puppy dog eyes. He pressed our foreheads together and sighed softly, I could feel his warm breath against my lips and I had to resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Sorry baby. I've already stayed too long, I-I-I'm sure to get an earful.” He snorted. 

“From who?” I frowned, utterly confused. 

“I have an appointment. I wo-won't tell you who with because it'll give it away.” He told me in a quiet, subdued voice as he held my eye contact. His sweet brown eyes were a little crossed since we were so close, and he looked so damn cute I couldn't help but squeeze him in my arms. 

“You're being very mysterious.” I commented, smirking. 

“All part of the fun, beautiful. I just came to tell you; Friday night. I'm coming to get you at half six, okay? Wear that yellow dress I like, baby.” 

“The yellow dress? The one with the lace around the bottom?” I clarified, frowning at him, my curiosity piqued. He nodded and smiled. “Okay. Where are we going?” Came my follow up question. 

“It's a surprise.” He winked, tightening his grip on me. He rose to his feet, lifting me up – though it took some effort, I could tell – and carrying me over to the sofa across the room. 

“Surprises make me nervous…” I told him, unsure as he placed me down on the sofa. He straightened up and gave me a once over, with my oversized t-shirt and bare legs. I noticed him adjust himself in his pants and smirked. 

“Don't be nervous. It'll be a good surprise. I jus-just wanted to do something special for our six month anniversary.” He told me, a quietly excited smile forming on his face. 

“Ohh, so romantic.” I purred quietly, a flirtatious edge to my tone that made him chuckle. “Okay then, lover-boy, I'll keep an open mind. For you.” I told him with a wink. He bent down and cupped my face, telling me quietly that I was a _good girl_ and not at all helping my constant urge to devour him.

“Six-thirty. Yellow dress.” He repeated. “I'll see you then, baby.” He whispered, pressing a final kiss to my forehead.


	11. Park Chinois (I.C/Reader) Part 1

“Relax, darling, trust me. You've honestly no need to be nervous, I recommended the place. Has my impeccable taste ever led anyone astray?” Tailor, who was leaning up against the banister of the stairs as we waited by the door, assured me. I.C would be arriving any moment. 

“I'm not nervous about the place, he could be taking me to McDonald's and I'd be totally happy. It's just this- this waiting around. I have so much nervous, excited energy, I just want to see him! To get going. You know? You've never felt like this before a date?” I asked, giving myself a last check in the mirror. Tailor had 'sorted me out’, he'd curled my hair for me (since I always missed parts in the back) and helped me pick out shoes and accessories to go with the yellow dress I.C had insisted I wear. He'd been keeping me company while I waited, dropping not so subtle hints about his involvement in the whole thing. 

I was honestly surprised, I didn't at all expect him to have bothered involving himself in I.C's and my private life. 

“I haven't been on a date since I was still with my ex wife.” He informed me, a bitter scowl on his face. “I don't _date_.” He added with an air of finality that warned me not to push it. I looked at him through the reflection in the mirror and he was staring at the ground.

“Thank you for helping me.” I told him, swiftly changing the subject. I didn't know a lot about his ex wife but whenever he mentioned her he got this look on his face that I didn't like. “You know I'm useless with hair and stuff. I appreciate you giving me your time.”

“Yes, you are pretty useless. I may not be a hairstylist but you look more kept than you would've done without me here.” He agreed bluntly. I was used to it and simply nodded my head. “I hope your boyfriend appreciates it too.”

“I'm sure he will. He's been speaking a lot more fondly of you the past few days, and now that I know you've been helping him out with this date, I understand why. I think you've grown on him.” I smiled at him as I turned to face him.

“I think that's more because he now knows I don't want to roger his girlfriend.” He scoffed. My eyes widened

“He thought that?” I asked, surprised. 

“Mm. Clueless bastard obviously doesn't realise that _he_ has more of a chance with me than you do.” A smirk played at the edges of his lips. I always liked seeing him smile.

“Well you can keep your hands off.” I smirked back.

“Please. I prefer my Ricks with taste and class. And preferably of high standing.” 

“Well surely if they're after you they already have taste checked off the list, hmm?” I said, stroking his ego just a little. 

“Of course. But I won't settle for one out of three.” He shrugged. 

The doorbell rang and I legitimately cried out in surprise. Tailor cocked his brow at my jumpiness. 

“Oh shit. Okay. How do I look?” I asked him one last time. 

“Sweetheart, if I still had faith in womankind I might just be interested. You look fantastic.” He said flatly, looking me up and down with a sense of distance in his gaze. He was looking but from a place of total disinterest. I nodded and smiled at his idea of a compliment and spun around to open the door. 

“Rick.” I breathed once I set eyes on him, my eyes immediately flashing to his striped yellow jacket and baby blue shirt. He had a white tie on too, a change from his usual bow tie. My lips parted and I simply stared at him for a few long seconds. “Oh my gosh you look adorable!” I was finally able to tell him in an excited babble. I threw myself at him, like I so often did, and he accepted me into his arms with a chuckle. 

“You like it, baby? I had it made just for this.” He told me, and the penny suddenly dropped. 

“It's a Sanchez!” I exclaimed, pulling back so I could better inspect the suit. Just as I suspected, the buttons on the jacket were embossed with Tailor's logo. I spun around to acknowledge him, but he had already conjured up a portal and was stepping through. 

“Yes, you're welcome.” He muttered before vanishing out of sight. 

“Oh… bye then.” I chuckled, shaking my head and turning back to I.C. “I love it. You look so handsome, like something out of an old fashioned film… I don't know. The stripes!” I grinned, running my hands up and down the silky smooth fabric. 

“I thought you'd like it.” He smiled. 

“I know why I'm wearing this, now.” I laughed, gesturing to my calf length summer dress, sleeveless with a high neckline and white lace around the bottom hem. The colour of it matched almost perfectly with his suit.

“See? I had a plan all along. And you look absolutely beautiful, sweetie, give me a twirl.” He took my hand and lifted it above my head, urging me to spin in a circle. I giggled, once again reduced to a school girl in front of him. “Perfect.” He whispered once I'd done a full three-sixty, then he brought my hand to his face and kissed it. So damn smooth. 

“Let me get my cardigan and then we can get going.” I said bashfully, trying to ignore the heat in my face. 

-

Rick drove us to our location. I still didn't know exactly where we were going but when we ended up at Mayfair I started having my suspicions… he was clearly going all out for our six month anniversary. He found a parking space and pulled up. As we parked, I noticed passers by staring.

“Jeez, you have ice cream trucks here, right? 's like they've n-never seen one before.” Rick muttered, seeing it too. 

“These are rich people, Rick, they're not like us.” I hissed dramatically under my breath, winking at him. 

“Well, we're rich. For tonight, anyway. W-w-we're gonna indulge to the max, okay? So no ordering tap water and skipping dessert to keep it cheap.” He grinned, cutting the engine. 

“I still don't know where we're going.” I said, and he pointed past me, through the window to the other side of the street. I followed his gaze and found a building with a red door, and some cast iron fencing on the outside. “Park Chinois? No! You didn't.”

“I did. Come on, baby. Let's see how the other half live.” He snorted, opening the door and swinging a leg out. Then he paused. “Wait, stay in the truck, I-I wanna get out and open the door for you. We're doing it all, baby.”

“Oh!” I laughed in surprise and waited, watching him walk around the front of the truck, buttoning his suit jacket as he did. As promised he opened my door for me, giving me an over the top yet gentlemanly bow as he did. I stepped out as gracefully as I could, taking Rick's outstretched hand for support as I did. “Thank you.” I told him quietly, squeezing his hand and keeping hold of it as he shut the door behind us. 

We made our way towards the entrance hand in hand, and were greeted with a polite nod from the suited up gentleman standing by the door. He opened it up for us, and I wondered if that was all he was paid for… or was he some type of fancy bouncer? I didn't stop to ask, simply thanking him and walking into the restaurant. 

My first thought was that the place had some serious atmospheric lighting going on, it was kept mostly dark, but it had considerately placed spotlights and wall sconces giving the place a nice, warm glow. There was a host desk in the front entrance, and the host standing behind it greeted us with a charming smile and well spoken voice. 

“Good evening to you both, welcome to Park Chinois. Do you have a reservation?” He asked, smiling between the both of us. 

“Uhh, y-yeah. Should be under the name Sanchez.” Rick told him, adjusting the tie around his neck just a little. I had picked up over time that this was a nervous habit of his, even when wearing his usual bow tie, but I'd never mentioned it. 

The host was scanning his reservations book, and smiled when he found us. “Absolutely, Sir. I see you're seated in Club Chinois this evening, would you like to follow me?” 

He led us through the restaurant into a large room where live music was being played by a band on stage at one end of the room. At the other end of the room there was a long bar, framed by two huge golden pillars with this textural pattern that – whilst reminding me of a pineapple – reflected the light in a way that made the whole place seem to glisten. In fact, there was a lot of gold in this room, the bar seemed to be enveloped in this yellow haze of light. It was absolutely stunning. 

We were seated between the bar and the stage on one of the many tables in the room. The restaurant was already quite busy, but it didn't feel that way; everyone kept to themselves and despite being surrounded by other people, our table felt rather private and intimate. Rick, of course, pulled my chair out for me before I took a seat, then took his own seat. We were handed a menu each. 

“Here are your menus, a waiter will be over shortly to take your drinks order. Is there anything I could do for you both in the meantime? Have a waiter bring some water for the table, perhaps?” The host asked, flashing a bright white smile at the two of us. Rick and I glanced at each other.

“Hmm, sure! Some water, please.” I nodded. 

“Certainly.” He was off, spinning on his heel and marching with his head held high and his spine impossibly straight. Reminded me of someone… 

“Wow, this place.” Rick snorted, scratching at his goatee as he glanced around the room. “It's something, huh?”

“It sure is. I haven't been to many places as fancy as this. My folks like to push me into all that stuff, that's how I ended up at the party with Tailor. But just going out for a meal somewhere like this? It's a little different to my local Weatherspoons.” I snorted, glancing down at the menu. “I wonder if they even have-” I cut myself off with a sharp gasp that had a couple of heads turning. 

I covered my mouth and ducked my head, pretending to clear my throat. 

“Are you okay?” Rick asked, frowning in concern. 

“No! I've just seen the prices!” I hissed under my breath. Rick sharply looked down at his own menu, then back over at mine. He quickly reached over and snatched it out of my hands, replacing it with the one he had. 

“Fuck. He was supposed to give you this one.” He grumbled. The menu he'd given me didn't have prices. “I wonder if I complain; we'll get a free dessert out of it… No, I'd better not. I'd probably get the poor bastard fired.” He muttered to himself thoughtfully. 

“Rick…” I shook my head. 

“Don't do it. Don't start feeling guilty, I want to do this so just enjoy yourself tonight.”

“But-”

“No. Business has been booming at the citadel lately since I came out with those alcoholic ice creams, I've got money burning a hole in my pocket. Le-let me spend it on you, baby.” He reached over and touched my hand, drawing a swirly pattern on the back of it. 

If I argued, we'd be here all night. I knew that much.

“You better believe I'm making this worth it for you.” I told him instead, my voice dropping an octave. He smirked. 

“Oh?” 

“Just wait till we've checked in at the Premiere Inn.” I winked. He laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair and withdrawing his hand.

“Doesn't sound as good as the Ritz, does it? I-I-I'm sorry baby, the budget could only stretch so far.”

“You think I mind? I like the Premier Inn. The beds are super comfy. Besides, going there meant I could afford to call and ask them to charge my card instead.” I told him casually. It took him a moment to process what I'd said. 

“You did what?” He questioned. 

“It takes two to tango, Rick. Both of us are celebrating six months. It's not fair that you should pay for everything. I wanna feel useful.” I explained and he rolled his eyes at me. 

“You're a pain in the ass.” He said. I grinned, and looked back down at the menu, deciding what to drink.

A pair of tumblers along with an ornate crystal pitcher full of water were placed down in front of us. The sides were cloudy with condensation but I could see that there were wedges of different fruits floating inside. Fancy. 

“Thank you.” Rick and I said in unison. The guy who brought it over was a different one than before.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter tonight so if you need anything please don't hesitate to ask! Have you decided what you'd like to drink?” He asked us, clasping his hands behind his back. He looked to me first and I scrambled to pick something.

“Umm, just some… some orange juice- you have orange juice, right?” 

“Yes ma'am. Freshly squeezed today and chilled.” He nodded. 

“Then I'll have some, thank you.” 

“And for you, sir?”

“I'll have th-the same. Thanks.” Rick answered.

“No wine this evening? Perhaps Champaign?” The waiter suggested. Neither one of us were heavy drinkers, I could count the number of times I'd seen Rick with an alcoholic beverage on one hand. Spending so much time with him, I'd found myself less and less interested in drinking myself. 

“No thanks. But, uhh, could I have a splash of Sprite or something in m-mine? I could go for something with some fizz.” Rick added. 

“Of course, sir. I'll be right back with those.” The waiter nodded, heading off. I looked at Rick with a cocked brow. 

“Ooh, lemonade with your orange juice. You're really pushing the boat out, hm?” I teased, winking. 

“Thought I'd get a little crazy.” He joked. “Now, what're you having, baby? You want an appetizer?” He asked, picking up his menu.

“Oh, you know, I think just a main course will be okay. You don't have to go stupid.” I assured him, looking down at my own.

“I wanna go stupid. I might go for this Hokkaido Sea Cucumber thing… see what's so special about it.” He laughed. He noticed I wasn't in on the joke and quickly explained. “Oh yeah, you can't see the prices.” 

“How much?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“A hundred and ten.” He said under his breath.

“Holy shit.” I breathed. “If I order something like that, please tell me! There's nothing I wanna try enough to make you spend that sort of stupid money.” I shook my head. Rick laughed and nodded. 

“Sure. If it'll make you feel better.”

“What about the soft shell crab? That sounds nice.” 

“Yeah, you're good. It's reasonable.” He smirked. I thanked him, and poured myself a glass of water. A slice of strawberry plopped out into my glass with it, and I took a sip of the delicately flavoured water. 

“What on Earth is poulet de bresse? There's far too many languages on this menu, I don't know what's what.” I asked. Rick laughed at me again, scanning the menu for what I was talking about. 

“Uhhh… no idea. My French isn't too great.” He admitted. 

“Hmm. Better leave that one then.” 

“Counter question. What's bavette?” He asked me. I thought for a while, I knew that one.

“It's like a steak, I think.”

“Oh! Th-then why don't they just call it steak?” 

“Cause that doesn't sound as fancy.” I told him. He nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Ahh, right.” He said, then rolled his eyes. “Well, that seems a safe option for the main course.” He snorted. 

“I'm struggling.” I laughed. “Uhhh, maybe the grilled sea bass. I know what that is.” I looked at him for some monetary reassurance.

“And you wouldn't keel over at the price.” He nodded slowly. 

“Phew.” I smirked. “I'll stick with seafood then. Sounds good! Though it has a kumquat sauce. I've never tried kumquat… I'm not even certain what that is. Is it like a berry, or?” 

“God knows.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I'm taking a gamble on ginger with my steak, I'm not sure how that'll work but I'm giving it a go.”

“Aren't we being adventurous?”

“Well, we don't get to eat like this every night, so why not have s-some fun with it?” 

“Ma'am, sir, your drinks.” The waiter returned, carrying our drinks on a fancy wooden tray. “Orange juice for the lovely lady.” He placed it in front of me in a tall, skinny glass that flared out at the top. It looked very top heavy and I knew I'd have to be mindful of knocking the damn thing over all evening. 

“Watch it.” Rick warned him at the complimentary comment, but it was only playful. The waiter seemed to momentarily shit himself before realising that it was just a joke. Then he laughed a little too hard. 

“And for you, sir.” He placed down Rick's drink once he'd recovered. “Are we ready to order?” He asked. Rick looked to me as the two of us nodded. 

“Yes, ahh, I'd like the soft shell crab to start, followed by the grilled wild sea bass, please.” I told him, and he jotted down my order on a little notebook he retrieved from his breast pocket. 

“Of course. Sir?”

“Uhhh.” Rick paused, scanning the menu once again. “The Sichuan vegetable dumplings, and then the stir fried Australian wagyu bavette. Thanks.” 

The waiter finished writing then looked up at us with a dazzling smile. “Perfect. Thank you. Would you like some bread while you wait? It's freshly baked today and comes with a selection of spreads.” 

Rick looked and me and I simply shrugged, not really knowing what to say. 

“Uhh, sure.” Rick answered, sounding just as certain as I looked. The waiter nodded, and he was on his way. 

“Oh Rick, you didn't have to. You watch, you've just dropped fifty quid on some Hovis.” I snorted. 

“So what? Live a little.” He grinned and leaned forwards with his elbows on the table. 

“Gosh, I'm a little surprised, honestly. I didn't expect something like this.” I told him, glancing around the room. The live band were taking a short break, and I watched them move around on stage, preparing for their next song. 

“We've been to a lot of restaurants, haven't we? But none like this. I thought it'd be cool to try something a little different, a little more upmarket. One expensive meal won't hurt.” He told me, leaning closer to me across the table. 

“I suppose it is nice to try it, even just for a night.” I smiled, leaning across to give him a brief kiss on the lips. “It's certainly interesting to see how the other half live.” I snorted. 

“Yeah, for sure. There's a couple over there on first name terms with the waiter, how often do you reckon th-they come here?”

“Wow, enough to keep the place in business, clearly.” I raised a brow. “I think even if I was stinking rich I wouldn't eat out at expensive places too often. It just seems excessive.” 

“It'd lose it's shine. You know, you do something too often it doesn't have the same effect. It's not as enjoyable.” He agreed, nodding slowly.

“Well, there are exceptions to that.” I countered, simpering to myself.

“Like what?” He asked innocently. 

“Like I said, just wait ‘till we get to the hotel.”

“ _Oh!_. Well, I'm surprised at myself. Can't believe I didn't think of that. I'm rubbing off on you, clearly.” He smirked in amusement. I laughed, shaking my head at him. The waiter returned with a platter of bread; all different sorts, white bread, whole wheat, seeded, sourdough, sun-dried tomato infused… then there was a separate platter with various spreads, half of which I didn't recognize but some I did. There was some sort of cheese and herb spread, a tomato one, various chutneys, and simply butter. Damn. It'd be hard not to fill up on bread with how good it all looked. 

Rick and I thanked the waiter, and he left us to it. Rick was the first to dig in, plucking a seeded slice and slathering it in a thick layer of butter; a sickening amount, really. I didn't know how he did it, but he always went heavy on the butter. I decided on the sun-dried tomato bread and some cheesy spread. Taking a bite, I wondered how they managed to get bread to taste so good. 

“Oh man.” I mumbled, covering my lips as I chewed. “Can I just have a plate of this for my main instead?” I chuckled. 

“Hey, we're rich today. Anything goes, you wanna loaf of bread for dinner you can have one, princess.” He replied with his mouth full. My tummy warmed at the nickname and I resisted a huge smile, he was always dropping things that made my heart soar. 

“If I start scarfing this down, stop me. I don't wanna spoil my dinner.” I chuckled. 

“Eat whatever you want, baby. Indulge.” He grinned, polishing off his own slice and going for another. This time he tried what I'd had. “Shit. If I start scarfing this down _don't_ stop me. Oh my God.” 

I snickered. 

“Well, if this is what the food's like I'm sure it'll be well worth the money.” I surmised, grabbing some sourdough and butter. 

“Yeah… but then again it's pretty hard to fuck up b-bread. I have high expectations for this place.” He said, looking around the place. I watched him with a little smile on my face, it was funny seeing him like this, in such a new environment. The places we usually dined at were small and quaint, not at all considered luxurious. I looked down at his jacket. 

“I can't get over how cute you look in that suit.” I told him. He glanced down at himself and grinned. 

“You like it, huh? I helped design it with Tailor.” He told me proudly, I couldn't help but smile at the idea of Tailor trying to cooperate with I.C. “Th-the stripes were his idea though. But I picked the colour so we'd match; I've always loved that dress on you.” He nodded towards my own attire.

“That is unbelievably sweet Rick, you went to all this effort.” I praised, feeling emotion well within me, this man was just too damn cute. 

“Hey, it's all fun. The effort’s worth it if we're both smiling in the end.” He told me, tearing off a chunk of bread with his teeth right after. I just wanted to leap across the table and smother him with hugs and kisses, but I had to stay put. 

I jumped at the sudden eruption of music on stage. The two of us snapped our heads towards the band as they began to play music that was much, much more lively than it had been before. It was loud, upbeat swing music that immediately captured everyone's attention. Lights began to float around the room and we were in the middle of a concert now, rather than a restaurant. An impressed smile appeared on my face once the adrenaline wore off, but Rick looked at me with a strange, nervous expression. 

“Yeah now I get why they call this area a club. I di-didn't expect music like this…” He murmured. I shook my head at him.

“What? This is awesome! Don't you like it?” I asked him and he shrugged his shoulders. 

“Oh, well I guess it's okay then. I just wondered if you'd have preferred something quieter.” He admitted. I shot him a comforting smile. 

“This is different, it's exciting. I like it!” I told him and his shoulders lowered as he relaxed, his easy smile returning.


	12. Park Chinois (I.C/Reader) Part 2

The singer, a woman dressed all in red, stepped down off the stage with mic in hand. She strutted down the middle of the room where the table layout created a sort of aisle for her, glancing from patron to patron as she went. Every now and then she'd sing a few lines to one of the tables before spinning around on her way to the next one. When she paused at our table she flashed us both a wink, then she was off. It was quite captivating really, being so involved in her performance. Rick and I watched her, completely entranced. Eventually though, she made her way back to the stage where she was joined by a pair of dancers. 

“This wasn't at all what I expected, this is fun!” I told Rick, and he seemed pleased with my reaction.

“I had no idea about this either. It-it's certainly a surprise.” He snorted, though he didn't seem at all displeased by the way the night was turning out. 

Our appetizers arrived shortly after that, carried over with grandiosity by the waiter and placed in front of each of us with a beaming smile and well wishes to enjoy our meal. I looked down at the plate in front of me and quickly realised just how stark the food to plate ratio was. Little portions of crab were elegantly stacked in the middle with a drizzle of chilli sauce and a few sprigs of some green stuff. It looked beautiful, but two mouthfuls and the whole thing would be gone. A glance at Rick's plate told me his was the same. On his plate sat a beautifully presented, yet singular dumpling. His face said it all.

“What's this shit?” He snorted. 

“Oh, but it's just the appetizer, you wouldn't want anything huge…” I trailed off. 

“Yeah but-” he jabbed his fork into his dumpling and held it up. His plate was pretty much empty already. I snorted, and quickly covered my mouth and flashed him an apologetic look. He couldn't help but become amused too, the edges of his mouth lifting despite his attempts at keeping a straight face. “Jesus.” He sighed, shaking his head. 

Without further complaint, he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth in one go. I blinked in surprise, watching him chew the entire contents of his plate. He made a pleasant humming sound and shrugged. 

“Tastes alright.” He admitted. 

“Well, at least there's that.” I laughed, picking up my knife and fork and cutting myself a small piece of crab, I intended to make mine go a little further than his. It was tasty, and I was sure to savour each bite, no matter how few there were. Rick was back to picking at the bread (which the waiter thankfully left for us), though that was dwindling too. 

“Do you want the last piece?” He asked me, nodding towards the remaining slice of sourdough. 

“You can have it. I don't want you starving to death, sweetie.” I teased. He rolled his eyes playfully and dipped the bread into some unidentifiable chutney, by the look on his face when he bit into it, he wasn't a fan. He finished the bread without any condiments. 

Unsurprisingly it didn't take me long to finish my appetizer, and I couldn't help but wish there was at least a little more of it. 

“How was yours? I'm sorry I didn't ask before you finished, I blinked while you were eating it.” He said. Some of Tailor's sarcasm seemed to be rubbing off on him and I snorted. 

“It was delicious, thank you. Just enough to whet my appetite, and that's all an appetizer needs to be.” I gave him a grateful smile and sipped my orange juice for the first time that evening. “Holy shit.” I exclaimed, suddenly feeling glad for the loud music, which helped to stifle my curse.

“What?” He asked me, his face dropping, clearly thinking something was wrong.

“This orange juice is incredible, it's the best I've ever tasted. Have you had some?” I asked, taking another big sip. The flavour burst in my mouth like I'd just bitten into an actual orange. I didn't know what I was expecting from freshly squeezed orange juice, but it was clear I'd never actually had it before. 

“Mm, yes, squeezed between the thighs of virgins.” He murmured haughtily, picking up his glass and swirling it's contents before taking a dainty sip, pinky out.

“I think you're getting it confused with Cuban cigars.” I laughed harder than I should've and he simply grinned at me. The waiter stopped by our table, noting the empty plates. They were really on it with the service in this place, that was for sure.

“Are you both finished with your appetizers?” He asked us, and Rick and I nodded. “Let me get those plates out of the way for you, did you enjoy your dishes?” He smiled, lifting the empty plates away one by one.

“Yes thank you.” I beamed. 

“Absolutely, nothing like a nice, light bite to really make you work up an appetite.” Rick said with a smirk, and I resisted the urge to shake my head at him. 

“Well I'm very pleased you enjoyed it! Your next course will be with you shortly, and I hope you're even happier with those.” He smiled widely at us both before adding. “Is there anything I can do for you both in the meantime?”

“No, we're good thank you.” The two of us agreed, and with a nod, the waiter left us. 

The singer on stage was no longer singing, she had joined the two dancers in a routine, while the band continued to play instrumental music. Some of the dancers would occasionally step down off the stage and do part of the routine in the aisle, again bringing us into the performance. 

“Do you think you'd come here again?” Rick asked me out of the blue, and I thought for a while as I looked at him. 

“It's a little early to tell, we haven't had our main meals yet. But if you're trying to find out if I'm having a good time, I am.” I assured him. 

“I'm glad. I'm just curious about h-how you're finding living the high life. Like, if this is the kind of thing we should do more often.” He murmured, resting his head on his fist as he watched the dancers. 

“If you want my honest thoughts? This is nice and all, but I don't necessarily think we need to do this often. I like our dates, I like exploring new places and chatting with the owners of those small family run restaurants and feeling at home there. I like how sometimes we go to a place and the food is terrible, but it doesn't matter because it was dirt cheap and we can have a laugh about it later. But mostly I just like going to those places with you.” I watched a smile appear on his face as I continued, though he didn't look at me. “I said to Tailor earlier; you could've taken me to McDonald's tonight and I'd have been content cause what's important is we're celebrating together. The fact that you went to all this effort and wanted so badly to give me this experience is a huge bonus.” I explained, still waiting for him to look at me though I could always tell when he was listening carefully because he'd absentmindedly run the tip of his tongue back and forth across his bottom lip. 

After a while, he finally turned to look me in the eye. He wordlessly leaned forward, lifting up off his seat just a little, so he could kiss my lips. The kiss was delicate, light, but full of tenderness and it made me forget everything but him. I couldn't care less that this perhaps wasn't the proper place for public displays of affection. I couldn't care less that people might be staring. Let them look! All I cared about was him. And when he finally broke away and realised his tie had been dipping in his drink the entire time, with a chuckle I thought to myself; this is who I am meant to spend the rest of my life with. 

As Rick tutted and patted his tie with a napkin he muttered; “This is why I don't wear these things.” sending me into a fit of girlish giggles. 

Our main courses arrived very quickly, just like the waiter had said they would. As the plate was lowered down in front of me, I could've laughed until I cried. I frankly didn't know how I kept a straight face. Especially when Rick's was placed in front of him; his face was a blank canvas as he blinked down at his food. 

If you'd told me that _this_ was an appetizer, I would've believed you. 

My sea bass consisted of a small fillet in the center of the dish, scattered with thin slices of kumquat (which I learned was some kind of orange) and sauce, a sprinkling of herbs. That was about it. I'd maybe get five mouthfuls out of the whole thing if I were to eat ordinary sized bites. Rick's stir fry was presented in a narrow line across his plate, each element neatly and perfectly placed, like every slice of vegetable or chunk of beef had been placed individually by hand. I couldn't deny that the thing was pretty, both dishes were attractive and appetizing, but considering the price, the quantity was a bit of a joke. The more I thought about it, the less surprised I was; posh restaurants typically served small portions, though they were meant to be delicious enough to make up for it. And that was what we were yet to find out. 

We both thanked the waiter and he walked away, and as soon as he was out of earshot Rick said;

“Thi-this looks lovely, but… I'm not used to these tiny portions. I'm gonna be starving after this. I'd consider getting dessert but I don't know if I can handle being served a teaspoon of ice cream with a sprig of mint on top.” He just sounded astounded at this point, not even angry or upset. 

“I know what you mean, baby, but let's just give it a try, hm?” I said softly, patting the back of his hand before picking up my knife and fork. I gathered a piece of fish along with some of the sauce and kumquat, and Rick tucked in too with a soft sigh. I popped the fish into my mouth, chewed once, twice, and immediately realised; I did not like kumquat. At least not with fish. I didn't let my face betray this though, I smiled as I chewed, nodding my head appreciatively. 

“Yep. I don't like ginger with meat.” Rick just came out and said it after swallowing his first bite, his lip turned a little in a grimace. “Th-this is the problem with posh places, they all have weird shit in the food and I think it only tastes good if you've got rich taste buds.”

I accidentally snorted, covering my mouth as I continued to chew through my amusement. 

“How's yours?”

“It's good!” I told him, it was almost true. The fish was delicious and cooked perfectly, it was just the sauce it was slathered in I had the issue with. 

“Good?” He cocked his brow at me. 

“Yeah.” I smiled. 

“You don't like it, do you?” He deadpanned.

“I do like it. It's interesting, I've never had anything like this before.” I said, averting my eyes as I went in for another bite.

“It's interesting, huh? You mean gross?” He smirked. 

“Rick.” I sighed, feeling my cheeks flush. “It's not terrible, okay? The sauce is just a little weird for my not rich taste buds.” 

“I thought so.” He chuckled. “Look, baby, don't eat it if you don't want it. I won't be angry.”

“I want to eat it, it's honestly not that bad if I just scrape off most of the sauce.” I assured him, he laughed again, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Jesus Christ.” He said under his breath through his laughter. “Le-let's just eat up and we can go somewhere else.” He added, spearing some veg and meat and stuffing it into his mouth unceremoniously. 

“We don't have to go anywhere else, you've spent enough money.” I shook my head, beginning to feel incredibly guilty. 

“Money doesn't matter, don't worry about it, seriously. Th-this is just… let's call it an unsuccessful experiment. It's just a bit of fun in the end.” He shrugged his shoulders. I watched him for a moment and he really did seem unphased by it. He had a soft amused smile lingering on his face, which made me feel a bit better. 

I continued eating, getting more and more used to the flavour as I went. By the last few bites I no longer found it all that unpleasant, but it wasn't something I'd ever have again. After finishing I felt pleasantly satisfied. I wasn't particularly full up; I was comfortable, but I knew it wouldn't be long before I was getting peckish. 

I drank some more of my orange juice and soon realised how little you actually got. Though the glass was tall, it was incredibly narrow towards the bottom, meaning as soon as you drank what was in the flared out top, the rest of the glass was barely a mouthful. Wow. They can't even be generous with the orange juice? I couldn't help but think the place was a total rip off. 

“The thing is, I can tell this is decent food. Someone would like it. It's just not for me, you know?” Rick said as he wrapped up his meal, swigging the last of his drink too. 

“I agree. It's high quality, cooked beautifully. It's just not to my taste.” I shrugged. 

“I'd prefer going out for a proper steak somewhere. Give me some chunky oven chips like every other restaurant in this country has and I'm happy.” He grinned. 

“Trust me, you get bored of those chips very quickly.” I rolled my eyes. They were served with almost every dish in every English pub, it was like there was an abundance of chips and they were just trying to get rid of them. 

“I doubt it. A little salt? A little vinegar?” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “And that's coming from a dessert fanatic. Speaking of, d-do you want dessert?” 

“Honestly I didn't see anything that caught my fancy when I looked. If we're having pudding I'd rather have something from your truck.” I admitted, shrugging my shoulders a little. The look on his face was a mixture of flattered and proud. 

“That can be arranged.” He nodded thoughtfully. 

“Of course, if you'd like dessert here, don't let me stop you.” I held my hands up, knowing what a sweet tooth he had. 

“Nah, I can almost guarantee my ice cream will be better.” He said without a hint of a joke. I cocked a brow and grinned. 

“Ooo, look at you! I like it. Confidence.” 

“Hey, I put heart and soul into my ice cream. I-I-I don't just mix up stuff with fancy names, expecting everyone to love it, which I assume is what they'd do here.” He glanced down at his empty plate as if to prove his point.

“Oh, I agree. Yours definitely would be better.”

“Are you both finished?” The waiter appeared out of nowhere again. When we both agreed, he continued. “Could I get you any desserts?” 

“Ahh, no thank you. Couldn't possibly eat another bite.” Rick said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. My face must've betrayed my amusement.

“Are you sure? I can bring you the menus again and give you some recommendations, see if I can't tempt you?” He said with a bucket full of charm. 

“No, we're good. We'll just have the bill, thanks.” He reiterated, and the waiter nodded. 

“I'll just get that for you, sir. How will you be paying?” 

“Cash.” 

The waiter nodded again and off he went. Rick pulled his wallet out of his inside suit pocket and opened it up. My eyes widened at the thick wad inside.

“Place your bets, baby, how much'll it be?” He grinned at me and I rolled my eyes.

“That's not a fun game, just don't tell me, okay?” I pleaded. He chuckled a little. 

“I won't.” 

The waiter brought over the bill inside a little leather bound book, he busied himself with checking up on the surrounding tables for a moment. I averted my eyes as Rick looked, and then filled it with the appropriate amount of cash. 

“I have no fucking clue how much to tip.” He whispered to me. 

“You're the American! I thought tipping was like… part of the culture.” I hissed back. 

“Fuck it.” He sighed. Shoving an unknown (to me at least) amount of money into the booklet. He closed it and placed it down on the table and right on cue, the waiter turned back to us.

“Wonderful sir, I do hope everything was to your satisfaction.” He said, gathering up the check.

“Yeah it was all great.” Rick told him, already rising from his seat with a tight lipped smile. It wasn't as if he was trying to be convincing, but the waiter ate it up. 

“I'm glad. We hope to see you again soon, enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

“Thank you.” I nodded at him and rose to my feet too. Rick held his hand out to me and I took it, he led me through the restaurant back to the entrance, where the bathrooms just happened to be located. He knew me well enough that he automatically waited outside the ladies room for me without me having to ask, I always needed the bathroom before leaving a restaurant and this time was no different. Except part of the reason I wanted to go this time was to check if they had fancy hand lotion in there. They did. 

Getting back into the familiarity of Rick's ice cream truck felt like a bit of a relief. It wasn't as though I hadn't enjoyed the evening, I absolutely had, I just felt a little out of place in places like that. It was nice to be able to lean back and feel comfortable away from the prying eyes of well off diners and overly attentive waitstaff. I reached over and touched Rick's knee once he'd climbed in, and he looked over at me. 

“Thank you for tonight. I really do appreciate all the effort you went to, and I had a lovely time.” I smiled at him, stroking up and down his thigh just a little. He caught my hand, interlacing our fingers so he could lift it up to kiss the back of it. 

“I know it's not been perfect but I'm glad you got something out of it. And we aren't done yet. W-w-we're gonna go to that planet you like and we're gonna fill up on ice cream.” He told me, placing my hand back down on his knee so he could start up the truck. 

“The planet with all the stars?” I smiled brightly at him. 

“That's the one.” 

-

Sitting up on the hood of Rick's truck, indulging in a wafer cone filled with chocolate and caramel ice cream, enjoying the view; was perhaps the highlight of the evening. It was just quiet and calm, the air was warm and the two of us were bathed in light from the sky. Oh, the sky! It was the reason this particular planet was my favourite Rick had ever brought me to. It was night time all the time here, but the sky was lit up with billions and billions of bright stars. I could see the colours of the galaxy we were in swirling and blanketing the whole sky; rich pinks and purples and reds… it was the most breathtaking thing I had ever seen and every time we came here, my words failed me. 

Rick was leaning up against the grill of the truck next to me, I could feel him pressed up against the side of my leg and he was staring up at the sky too as he licked his own ice cream. Neither of us had spoken for a long time and that was okay, we could enjoy the easy silence between us. Well, almost silence. Critters could be heard all around us, similar to crickets in that there was a constant harmony of sound from all directions, but here it was a deep bassy hum that I found extremely relaxing. 

I'd licked down to the cone of my ice cream, and I crunched through the wafer, disrupting the hum. Rick wasn't far behind me though, so I didn't feel like a noisy nuisance for long, and we soon finished our ice creams. After having some of Rick's delicious ice cream, I was feeling much more full up; it was the perfect end to the evening. Rick eventually turned around, stepping closer to me so he was standing with his tummy against my knees. He brushed his hand across his mouth to remove the residual crumbs from the wafer, and licked his lips. 

“Do you want to go back yet?” He asked me; I was quick to shake my head. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders I bent down to kiss his forehead, my lips lingering for a few seconds. 

“I want to stay here for a bit, if that's okay.” I whispered, and he nodded.

“Anything you want, baby. I like it here anyway.” He smiled up at me, leaning his hands on the hood of the truck either side of me.

I tilted his chin so I could join our lips, giving him short, sweet kisses until he chased me, keeping our mouths connected for longer. He tilted his head, opening his mouth, he tasted sweet and his tongue was still a little cool from the ice cream. I parted my legs and wrapped them around his waist, perfectly content to stay locked with him like this until I could no longer breathe.


	13. Park Chinois (I.C/Reader) Part 3 NSFW

I pulled away panting, our kiss leaving me a clingy mess with a hammering heart and clammy palms. Rick looked up at me through his lashes, his lips parted and slick with spit. As soon as our breaths returned he was on me again, hands sliding up and down my thighs before he was reaching them around my waist, clutching me tightly and pressing his stomach against my groin. I involuntarily whined, my body jolting, hips rocking, wanting some kind of friction. He caught this, breaking the seal of our lips minutely so he could whisper breathily against them.

“Do you wanna go back _now_?” He repeated his earlier question. We were still outside in the warm air of this seemingly empty planet. The sound of unknown critters humming all around us, the beautiful stars in the sky casting enough light for me to clearly see his face. 

“N-no.” I stammered, shaking my head and sliding one hand to grip onto his tie. He seemed to read the look in my eye because he licked his lips, then slid me down the hood, keeping me elevated and trapped against the grill of the ice cream truck. The new position allowed for our groins to meet, and I whimpered as I felt the hard line of his erect cock press against the seat of my panties. I flexed my thighs, moving myself against him, grinding, rubbing. My skirt was hitched around my waist at this point; that'd happened by accident. But as Bob Ross would say, it was a happy one. 

“Oh, baby.” Rick breathed against the side of my head, hunching slightly, using his weight to keep me pinned where I was. He did move a little, rutting back against me with an up and down motion. The friction felt divine and I moaned, leaning my head back up to the stars. 

He bucked a little rougher and I slipped, slamming a hand down on the truck with a _thunk_ before I fell. I snickered and kept my grip on the vehicle, giving him more freedom. 

“Oh fuck. Fuck.” Rick whispered, closing his eyes momentarily. “H-how can you get me s-so horny I can't control myself?” He asked, and I shook my head cluelessly. He kissed me again as he dry fucked me, stimulating my clit and labia and dragging my panties across my slit; I could feel them getting wet, and it made everything better. 

I let go of the truck with one hand, bringing it to his chest and stroking. I could feel a nipple underneath and he jolted, making a nervous grunt.

“Oh shit. Sorry.” I mumbled against his lips, moving my hand to his other nipple; the one he hadn't had pierced just a few weeks ago. He chuckled quietly, and I was relieved I hadn't hurt him.

“D-do you really wanna do this here?” He asked me, pulling back just a little, though he didn't stop grinding against me. 

“Yes. Fuck yes.” I nodded eagerly. “I want you so badly.” I breathed, squeezing his nipple gently through his shirt. He moaned, his hands tightening in the fabric of my dress behind me. 

“C-can I- fuck, I need to be inside you l-like pronto.” He babbled, snapping his eyes to mine and licking his lips again. 

“Please.” I nodded frantically and he lowered me onto my feet for a moment. I pulled my knickers down, kicking them off onto the floor while he fumbled with his own clothes. He didn't even undo his belt, he undid the zipper of his pants and manoeuvred his cock out; fully clothed. I pretended not to notice the damp smear I'd left on him. Tailor would not be pleased. “You're gonna get-”

“I'm doing it on purpose, baby. I want your pussy to get my pants nice and wet.” He told me. 

“But they're so expensive-”

“Fuck, please baby, le-let me-”

“Do it.” 

He lifted my leg, wrapping it around him and boosting me up so I was partially sitting against the grill, I hooked the heel of my other foot onto _something_ , and hoped to God I wasn't doing any damage to the truck. I couldn't think about that, though, when his cock was entering me. So thick and hot against my slit it rubbed once or twice, then he pushed. I was wetter than I thought; there was no dry drag like I expected, he slid in easily and our groins bumped. We were both panting already. 

“I want you to fuck me hard, please move, baby.” I begged practically straight away. A low rumble sounded in his chest and he started thrusting, skipping warm ups and going straight for gold. It was exactly what I needed and a string of curse words and moans left me. 

“Oh shit. That's right.” He grunted as he pumped in and out of me. He was letting out puffs of breath against my shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me, pressing our chests together. My fingers closed around the fabric of his suit behind him. I was so fucking wet I could already hear those slick sounds as he picked up the pace, my entire pubic area was feeling damp and hot and ridiculously sensitive. 

“Ta-talk to me.” I panted. “I wanna hear you talk dirty.”

“Dirty talk? Shit, uhh, fuck baby.” He laughed breathlessly, I could feel him shaking his head. “I can tr-try but I'm struggling to keep my head straight. Your pu- fuck! Your pussy feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah? It's yours, Rick. You fuckin’ own my pussy. My whole body.” I told him, turning my head and pressing lazy kisses against the side of his head. I reached a hand up to his hair, holding onto his ponytail. He let out a long groan, his hips stuttering and snapping more harshly.

“Oh god. Th-that's right, babygirl. You know I love how you're always so eager. How s-soaked you get for me. You're so fucking hot I just- I th-think about doing this all the time. Wh-when you aren't around you're always in my head. I fuck my hand thinking of you.” 

“Shit. Y-you do?”

“Yeah, baby. I like to think of how you feel around my cock. I try to make my hand squeeze like you do when you cum but it doesn't compare. Th-there's nothing like those tight pulses you do when you're enjoying it- fuck, l-like that.” He told me through heavy breaths. His words made my tummy do flips and now I was picturing him with his own hand pumping his cock. 

“I gotta watch you touch yourself one day. See how you get yourself off.” I panted into his ear, licking the outer edge of his earlobe once I'd finished. 

“The-there's usually a shit load of gr-gravy involved.” He admitted through breathless laughter, I couldn't help but laugh too. He was always so candid, now, mentioning his kink; I liked how comfortable he was. “Ge-gets messy.” 

“Mm, I bet it does. You like it messy, don't you? Is that why you want me to soak your trousers? So you can walk around all messed up, all wet from my pussy? For everyone to see?” I asked, purring filthily into his ear. 

“Oh fuck yes.” He sighed. His hips stuttered and he paused for just a second before sucking in a big breath and carrying on. “I wa-want everyone to see.” He nodded. Shifting slightly, he pressed his forehead against mine, he looked me in the eye now. 

“You better make me cum then, hmm?” I said sweetly, as sweetly as I could anyway since I was panting like a marathon runner. 

“S-stop, you're gonna make me blow my load before I have the chance.” He growled through gritted teeth, changing the motion of his hips to a grind, back and forth, up and down. Stimulating everything between my legs, I could feel the fabric of his pants against me and it was wet. I whined, my eyes falling closed and my lips parting into a little ring. 

“Oh please, I'm gonna cum.” I told him in a high pitched voice. 

“I know baby, I can feel h-how wet you're getting. I be-bet you're leaving a nice mark.” He laughed indulgently, moving in a more circular motion that had me gasping and rolling my neck back, exposing my throat to him. He painted a stripe up the ribbed line of my windpipe with his tongue, tasting me, nipping at the edge of my jaw with a slight growl building in his throat.

“Oh God! I'm so fucking close, fuck me. Fast!” I cried out, my inner walls clenching and swelling, I could feel something coming and it was big. 

Rick obliged, pistoning his hips again with a force that made the truck creak. Just a few pumps of his cock had me exploding. A yell ripped from my throat and I practically crippled him with my grip, but I was cumming so hard I didn't know what I was doing. But I certainly felt the flood of liquid leaving me at the peak of my orgasm, drenching both of us. 

“Oh Christ! Oh fuck! Th-that's it baby, g-give me what I want, shit, cum all over me.” Rick groaned, fucking harder, the slap of wetness even more audible. 

For a while I couldn't speak because the continued stimulation kept my body peaking in sparks, smaller spurts leaving me as he made me squirt time after time until he reached his own climax. He growled my name, drooling against my neck as his cock jumped and shot hot cum deep inside me. His body shook, his white knuckle grip on the back of my dress only loosened when his hips slowed. Then he waited, pausing for a few moments to catch his breath.

“Jesus, what a g-gorgeous mess.” He murmured, his voice a little hoarse as he pulled out of me, keeping our bodies close and rubbing his cock against me through the mess between my folds. His cum dripped out of me and he slid back and forth in it before he lost his erection. He wasn't even looking, his eyes were closed and he was focused on the feel of it; but I was looking. I saw the way a string of cum stretched between us as he pulled away, to eventually break and drip onto his pants. His pants… that were absolutely soaked. 

Just like the back of my dress; which I'd been sitting on the whole time. 

Oh well, it was worth the assumptions people would make when we got back to London and checked in at the hotel later… well worth it. 

“Oh God. Your trousers.” I mustered the energy to worry. “Tailor will kill me.”

“We aren't gonna tell Tailor you squirted all over them. Y-you don't have to worry about that.” He laughed, shaking his head at me. “I'll get them cleaned, they'll be fine.”

He kissed my forehead, then guided me down onto my feet. I immediately turned to inspect the truck. There was no damage, just a large wet smear where I'd slid down the hood. My face was hot, but he turned me to look at him and he kissed my lips. 

“I love you so fucking much.” He mumbled against my mouth, barely breaking the kiss. He didn't give me the chance to reply before going back for more, so I hummed something that resembled those words back to him. When he finally, properly broke away I caught the amusing sight of his flaccid cock hanging out the zipper of his pants before he tucked himself away. He picked my underwear up off the floor and kneeled before me, holding them out so I could step into them. 

He somehow managed to make the act of being dressed not humiliating, he pulled my underwear slowly up my legs then pressed kisses to my inner thighs; I was still holding my dress up. He kissed upwards to between my legs, a final one being planted on my now covered pussy, then he buried his nose right there. He breathed in my scent which sent a flood of embarrassment through me, but it soon turned to arousal when he gave a throaty groan. I could feel my underwear getting damp already from the concoction of bodily fluids still between my legs, and this wasn't helping.

“I’m not done with you, yet. Let's go back so I can taste you.” He said, rising back to his feet and tugging me around the truck to the door. I tottered along with him, feeling wobbly on my legs and fully prepared for him to keep me feeling like that for the rest of the night. Who needs sleep anyway?


	14. Unpicking: Tailor's Backstory

Tailor and I had been going non stop all weekend. He'd been nominated for an award at a men's fashion event, and it'd been non stop dinners, networking events, talks, presentations, cat walks, interviews… all sorts. He wasn't doing well, I could tell that much. Despite his fame, Tailor really didn't 'do’ people. He liked to keep to himself, being surrounded only by people he trusted and could tolerate; but this weekend he'd been hassled by hundreds of people he didn't know from Adam and I'd watched him get more and more agitated as the event went on. 

He didn't even seem to cheer up after he'd been announced as the winner. He was brought up in front of a crowd, expected to give a speech. When the time came, he walked up to the microphone and said;

“I'm not one for long speeches, and I know none of you really want to sit here and listen to me thanking a bunch of people who I supposedly wouldn't be here without…” He'd started wistfully, everyone in the crowd was rapt, hanging on every word as he stared at the etched glass plaque in his hands. We were all expecting a 'but’, followed by an inspirational outpouring, someone so articulate such as Tailor would surely leave a lasting impression! 

“So, thank you for the award.”

Then he just gave a nod, and walked off stage. 

There was an awkward stretch of silence. I began to clap, and as social cues were hard to ignore, so did everyone else. 

And now we were in an almost empty bar, far from the event (not even on the same planet), and Tailor was necking glass after glass of whiskey. I was still on my first glass of wine, unable to keep up with him even if I tried. I'd attempted to make conversation, but he was responding in grunts and nods, clearly exhausted. If not physically, mentally. So now I was quiet, enjoying the music playing in the background. It wasn't like music from earth, it was more tinkly sounding and didn't have any lyrics; just this constant, calming burring sound that changed in pitch with the beat. 

Tailor made me jump, slamming his hand down on the table to push himself up. I noticed him swaying on his feet, but he managed to get himself over to the bar to order another glass. I frowned. What was with him? He'd won an award, had been showered in praise and congratulations all weekend. Surely he was at least a little bit happy? Instead he was looking like he was drowning his sorrows.

When he came back and slumped down into his chair, he leaned his head in his hands, staring down into his glass boredly. I leaned forwards on my elbows and looked at him for a while before deciding to speak. 

“Hey.” I said quietly. He didn't even react. “Everything okay?” I asked.

“Everything is perfect.” He told me. 

“Then why've you got a face like a slapped arse?” 

That got his attention. His gaze snapped up to me, a frown creasing his brow.

“I'm just having a quiet evening, okay? Leave me be.” He grumbled, his voice a little slurred but still stern as usual. 

“You don't look happy.” 

“I'm not particularly happy.” He admitted. 

“Why's that? Aren't you pleased about your award? The prize money alone must be good.” I asked tentatively, keeping my tone careful; I didn't want to set him off. 

“Money is inconsequential.” 

“Oh.” Was my pathetic response. What was I to say to that? 

“Sure, I'm pleased I won. Though it was a no-brainer. I'd have been offended if any of the others had won over me. It'd be an insult.” He murmured, though it sounded like he was talking mostly to himself. “I'm just sick of being pestered. I never started this to acquire fame. I d-don't particularly want it.” 

“I get that.” I nodded sympathetically and he narrowed his eyes. 

“Do you, now?” He hissed in annoyance. I thought about it for a moment, and shook my head. 

“Well, no, but I understand why it would bother you.” I corrected myself. Despite being by Rick's side for most of the event, nobody had batted an eye at me. I couldn't comprehend being actually famous, the center of attention, the object of a whole crowd of people's undivided admiration.

He grunted an unaffected, wordless response and swallowed down half of his drink. 

“Why don't we go back soon, hmm? Just get in bed and sleep it all off. It's done now and we're going home tomorrow.” I suggested. 

“You wanna go? I c- I can portal you back, no problem.” He replied, his expression never shifting from a combination of boredom and irritation. 

“No, it's okay.” I sighed, if he was going to drink himself stupid, I thought it best I be here to help him get back. Not that I had a clue how to work his portal gun.

We fell into silence again for a long time, and I finished off my wine. Tailor seemed to be taking this glass of whiskey a little slower, for which I was grateful. I picked up a coaster from the table; it looked incredibly familiar in that it was cardboard and reminding me of the kind we had back at home in the pubs. Stained and dog eared and advertising alcohol; though there wasn't a Fosters logo in sight. This was all in a foreign language I couldn't understand. Still, it reminded me of home, and I wondered if that's why Tailor picked this place of all pubs in the universe. 

“They asked me about my marriage.” Tailor broke the silence and I was startled into looking at him. “At- at that interview this afternoon, the one you weren't allowed in for.” 

“Your marriage?” I repeated. 

“Yes. Y-you are aware I was married, aren't you? Six years.” 

“Yes, I know. You've never really said a lot about it, though.” I nodded slowly, my attention completely grasped by the topic. I had always wondered about his marriage, but never dared ask. 

“Hmm. Well in that interview I- I-” He stopped and sighed. “It was the first time I simply didn't know what to say.” He admitted. 

“That's okay. You don't owe anyone answers about your private life.” I said leaning my cheek on my fist as I watched him twist the ring on his middle finger. 

“While that may be true it- it caught me off guard. I told them I wouldn't be answering anything like that and they moved on, but it completely cocked up the rest of the interview. I couldn't answer anything properly, I-I-I just sounded like a blithering idiot, stumbling through my words.” He heaved a sigh and slumped back in his chair roughly, his body going lax in a way I'd never seen before. He looked startlingly like any other Rick I'd ever seen, no longer holding himself with his particular brand of poise. 

“I'm sure it wasn't like that; we tend to remember things being much worse than they actually were.” I tried to reassure him but he flicked his hand at me, waving away my response. 

“That isn't my point, dear.” 

“Oh. What did I miss?” 

“Nothing. I suppose I am just surprised and irritated by how much it affected me. It was such a small thing, a thoughtless question that I was under no obligation to answer. And yet I…” he was spinning his ring again. 

“I don't know anything about your marriage, but whatever happened, it's understandable that being asked about it at such an unexpected time would be jarring. Don't beat yourself up. Your marriage… it’s personal.” 

He looked at me for a while, his brow arching in mild worry; he very rarely showed any emotion on his face other than annoyance, and it was weird. His bottom lip twitched once, twice, then he cleared his throat and picked up his glass, finishing off its contents. 

“My marriage. You wanna hear about my marriage? P-put it this way.” He lifted his hand, the back of it facing me. The gold band around his middle finger caught my eye. “I s-still wear the ring as a reminder to never, ever do it again.”

My face must've betrayed my surprise, and I continued to stare at the ring even when he lowered his hand.

“But not on your ring finger.” I observed. 

“Absolutely fucking not.” He seethed, narrowing his eyes. I could feel his bitterness permeating the atmosphere, and I couldn't help but pity him despite knowing the last thing he wanted was my pity.

“I think we should go back to the hotel.” I said. I was expecting him to lash out, but instead he nodded his head. He searched around in his inside suit pocket to retrieve his portal gun, then hauled himself to his feet unsteadily. The man was hammered, I'd seen him tipsy before but never like this. 

He fired the portal gun at the nearest wall and slowly made his way through it; I followed close behind, poised to act if he stumbled. It was pretty sad, actually, seeing him in such a state. Tailor always carried himself with so much dignity and class, he never appeared anything but perfectly composed, it was difficult to swallow watching him stagger across the floor of our shared hotel room to collapse face first on his bed. 

“Christ, I am fucked.” I heard him mutter into his pillow. 

“Yeah, don't puke in here cause I'll use your credit card to book out a room at the Ritz for myself.” I warned, deadly serious. He grunted in response. “Take your shoes off. And your tie, I don't want you strangling yourself in your sleep.” I added, slipping my own shoes off and leaving them by the door. 

He sighed heavily and pushed himself up just enough to wriggle out of his suit jacket. He let it drop to the floor, soon followed by his tie. I picked them up for him, knowing he'd freak out if he found them like that in the morning; that was if he wasn't too hungover to notice. I hung them up in the wardrobe for him, then turned to watch him attempting to remove his shoes. He was on his back, and when he lifted his leg up, his hands missed his foot once or twice before he managed to get ahold of it. Eventually he managed, throwing both shoes over the end of the bed. I sighed defeatedly and made my way over to my own bed.

There were two single beds in the room, placed a couple feet apart. Tailor'd been pissed about that when we arrived, complaining that we might as well be sharing, but he didn't seem to care anymore. I took a seat on my bed, leaning up against the headboard with my legs stretched out in front of me. I looked down at my toes, wiggling them back and forth to try and stretch out the arch of my foot; we'd been on our feet practically all weekend and they were aching terribly. 

“I wanna dirty kebab.” Came from beside me, startling me a little. I thought he'd fallen asleep. 

“A dirty kebab.” I repeated incredulously. Copious amounts of shredded, reformed lamb drizzled in thick garlic mayonnaise, perhaps with a little salad and wrapped up in a pitta bread, served in a yellow polystyrene tray… was not exactly the type of meal I pictured Tailor ever going near. But then, everyone had to treat themselves once in a while…

“I could see if they're still doing room service?” I suggested, searching around for the menu they'd given us amongst the pile of papers on the bedside table; all itineraries and leaflets we'd collected over the weekend. 

“Th-they won't be. But I want a kebab, I-I-I'm craving doner meat.” He slurred, rolling onto his side to face me. His hair was messed up, his shirt ruffled and unbuttoned down to his chest… my stomach seemed to drop at the sight. I'd never seen him look anything like that and I was ashamed to realise that I felt a seed of something frighteningly close to arousal blossom in my gut.

So, sue me. Blame it on the fact that with the messy hair he looked just a little more like my boyfriend; I.C. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” I asked, quirking a brow. 

“Call them. C-call down to reception and tell them to bring us one- two. I'm not eating alone.” He instructed, regaining just a smidgen of his composure and let's face it; his authority over me. 

“Will they even do that?” I questioned.

“Sure they will. They'll have some useless gorm go out and fetch it, tell them to charge whatever they want for it a-and the delivery.” He murmured, sitting up and mimicking my position, leaning against the headboard. 

With a sigh I picked up the phone. I suppose it was far better to just do it myself than insist he do it if he wanted it so much… I dreaded to think what he'd be like speaking to hotel staff _drunk_. He was rude enough sober. 

To my surprise the hotel staff were extremely accommodating, and had no trouble agreeing to the odd request. Though I did wonder what figure would come up on the bill. While we waited we put the TV on and sat staring numbly at it, mostly in silence until, surprisingly, Tailor broke it. 

“S-so how're things with Mr. Whippy?” He murmured. He didn't really seem interested in my answer, but he rarely seemed interested in anything and I now just chalked it up to his mannerisms. 

“I.C? He doesn't know what that nickname means, by the way. He's always so confused…” I mused. Bless him, the adorable man. “But things are fantastic. They always are, he's a sweetheart.”

“You mean you haven't told him what it means?” He questioned, then rather uncouthly snorted. “Good, don't. He looks cute when he's confused.” 

“Oi.” I warned, turning to narrow my eyes at him. 

“What? I-I-I can't compliment your boyfriend? Don't worry, my dear, I'm not interested in stealing him from you. H-he's too nice for my taste. Bit of a doormat, I presume.” He explained monotonously, rolling his eyes at me. “But I do see what you see in him. That little bow tie is just darling.”

“Damn right it is. He's the cutest thing ever.” I said, twisting my fingers in the bedsheets below me with this weird sense of frustration… maybe it was because he wasn't here and I wanted him to be. 

“Besides I think you two are good together. As much as I can't stand to be around you two when you're acting like you do… perhaps I'm just a little happy for you. You seem to have found happiness in each other and not many people manage that. Well done.” He told me dryly, like he wasn't even taking notice of the words coming from his mouth. 

“Oh, I don't know. I'd say it's pretty common. Lots of people are in relationships.”

“Relationships don't equal happiness. You'd be naive to think everyone in love is as happy as you are.” He retorted a little scathingly. “You're one of the lucky ones, don't forget that.”

I looked down at my feet and pressed my lips together, uncomfortable and not sure how to respond. I didn't bring this up, Tailor did. I heard a sigh coming from beside me, then a rustling sound as he rolled over to face me. 

“H-hey. Don-don't listen to me. I didn't mean to make you feel bad just for being happy, okay? Ignore me. I'm just a bitter old bastard who didn't have it so good.” He slurred. I glanced over at him, taking in his forlorn expression, the down turned edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. 

“Do you want to talk about something? I know you- you've mentioned some stuff before and I get the impression you're kind of dripping all this information because you…” I paused, taking a breath and considering the best approach. “Because maybe you want someone to listen.” 

“No. It's fine. I'm fine, forget about it.” He grumbled, rolling onto his back. 

A knock at the door signified the arrival of our food, and I got up to answer it since it didn't look like Tailor was going to. The smell of doner meat hit me as soon as I opened it, and my mouth began to water. We hadn't eaten much all day, just snacks since breakfast, so I was ready to demolish anything. After a short exchange with the hotel staff, I closed the door and handed Tailor his box of cholesterol. I would've sat at the little dining table in the corner, but when I saw Tailor was happy to eat in bed, I just shrugged and joined him. He was one of those people who somehow managed to pick up the whole thing inside the pitta bread and eat it like a sort of sandwich. I always had to use a knife and fork, my hands were too small and I'd end up wearing more than I ate otherwise. 

Our earlier conversation hung in the air, and I wasn't exactly sure how to shift the mood. If Tailor didn't want to talk about it then that was up to him, but I couldn't help but feel a little sad; I knew just from looking at him that he wasn't happy. All this stuff bottled up from his marriage clearly had him hurting, and as his friend I felt powerless to cheer him up when I didn't actually know what the problem was. 

I'd managed to get garlic mayo down the side of my hand, and was licking it off when Tailor spoke. 

“Alright. I suppose I can trust you with this information. Lord knows I know enough about _your_ relationship, you flaunt it enough.” He rambled, staring straight ahead at the TV. 

My mouth was full and so I simply waited for him to continue. It took him a while, but he did. 

“My marriage dissolved a long time ago now, before my business really took off. At the time I was working out of an old laundrette; bit of a shit heap, really. But that's besides the point. Di- My wife. She… wow, she was something.” 

A small smile formed on my face as I watched his expression change at the thought of her. It was softer than it usually was.

“She had me wrapped around her talon.” He snorted, that softness gone in an instant, replaced with resentment. “Fucking bitch, sh- she- God, I loved that woman like nothing else. Would've had my knob chopped off if it meant she'd smile; hell, she probably would've. She'd have been doing the chopping.” 

The room went quiet, save for a thud in his tray when a piece of doner meat dropped from the pitta bread he was holding, but not eating. 

“Six years we were married. We had the wedding when she was pregnant; everyone at the ceremony knew that was why it was happening. But I was over the moon. Maybe I knew she'd never marry me otherwise, I thought I was lucky, that the universe was being kind to me by having her fall pregnant.” He sighed, dropping his kebab back into the box and leaning back, deciding to just pick at the meat instead. “I don't know, maybe that was selfish of me, being happy about the fact she was trapped between me and our kid. I should've seen it coming really.” He muttered. 

He didn't continue for a long time; so long that eventually I felt the need to prompt him.

“Seen what coming?”

“Isn't it obvious?” He questioned dryly, glancing over at me. My blank expression gave him his answer. “I came home to her bouncing around on top of some sweaty fat bastard in our bed. Stupid, dumb whore.” The poison in his voice was palpable, and I recoiled. I had to remind myself that he was well within his rights of insulting her in such a way.

“Rick.” I said softly. I didn't know where I was going with it, but I didn't need to go anywhere cause he spoke again. 

“Then it turned out she'd been doing it from the start. Fucking other men left and right, before we even had Beth. Sh-sh-she was so fucking honest about it too, like she had no shame. It was people I knew, half the time. Fuck!” He slammed his head back into the (luckily) cushioned headboard. “I'm surprised I n-never fell into that gaping hole of a cunt of hers.” 

I felt a little sick, suddenly losing all interest in food. 

“An-and for a while, I didn't even know if Beth was mine.” 

“What?” I hissed. Somehow, that was the most shocking thing I'd heard. 

“She wouldn't let me have a paternity test, wouldn't tell me if she knew. That nearly- shit, I've never said this out loud before, b-but that nearly killed me. To this day, I don't have any physical evidence. The only reason I believe she's mine is because I found other Ricks. Y-you know most of them have Beths, right? Your boyfriend does, doesn't he?” 

I nodded my head. 

“So unless all Dianes are cheating slags, well… well Beth's gotta be mine.” 

“I'm sure she is. Either way, though, you're the man who brought her up. She's your daughter no matter what.” I said softly. He didn't respond verbally, he just sighed and plopped another chunk of meat in his mouth. “Where is she now?” I asked. 

“Fuck knows. Last I heard she'd moved to Spain with her new fella.” He told me boredly. “Even Beth hasn't seen her for years. I'm glad about that; at least she hasn't managed to turn her into a poisonous clone of herself. My Beth's a princess.” He mused quietly. 

“Does she take after you?” I asked, a little smile forming on my face as I tried to steer the conversation more positively. 

“Thankfully, yes. She's got a good head on her shoulders, she's a vet, you know?” He explained, and I nodded. Just like I.C's daughter. “For a while I wished I'd never met Diane but then I wouldn't have Beth. It might've screwed me up royally, but at least some good came of it all.”

“How did you meet her, if you don't mind me asking?” I questioned and he glanced over at me. He looked at me silently for a while before deciding it was safe to answer. 

“Sh-she was a client of mine. She was a bridesmaid at a wedding and they all came to me for the dresses. I thought as soon as I saw her that she was the prettiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on. I should've known. Nobody's that attractive without being a total cunt.” 

I winced again at his language. 

“Is this why you told me you don't date clients?” I asked, remembering when I had my dress fitting with him, right after we first met. Tailor snorted. 

“I told you that because I had to tell you _something_ , and – I’m completely terrified of women – just didn't seem to cut it.” He admitted dryly. 

“Is that true?” My eyes widened. Tailor terrified of anything just didn't seem to compute in my mind. He sighed.

“What do you think? Did you ever see me responding to the countless come-ons from women this weekend?” 

“Well, no. I thought you thought you were better than them.” I replied, causing him to scoff in mild offense. “I never thought it was cause you were scared of them.”

“I'm not scared of women in the sense I'd run away from them, screaming at the top of my lungs. I just don't trust them. Quite frankly I think the majority of them are evil. My mother included. Present company…” he gave me a suspicious look. “Possibly included. I haven't decided yet.” 

“Huh. Well I guess that makes sense that you'd feel that way. And for the record I hope you don't decide I'm evil and toss me out of your life.” 

“Why's that? So you can slowly destroy me from the inside out?” He cocked a brow. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not. 

“No. Cause I've grown to like you, and I consider you a friend.” I told him seriously. He gave me a brief dirty look, then turned to his kebab. 

“Well I suppose I can divulge that my estimated odds of you being a soul sucking she-demon are only at around twenty percent.” 

“I love you too.” I smirked. We fell into silence again and each of us finished off our kebabs. I took his trash from him and binned them both. He was laying with his eyes closed, his head tilted back and up towards the ceiling. “Are you going to sleep? Shouldn't you brush your teeth and get changed first?” 

“One night won't kill me. I'm fucked.” He murmured.

“Alright.” I shrugged. I wasn't his mother.

I peeled my socks off and tossed them onto the floor and shimmied out of my jeans. Tailor had seen me in my underwear multiple times during dress fittings and such, so changing into my jammies in front of him didn't bother me in the least.

“Rick?” I said, before he could fall asleep. He hummed in acknowledgement. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Telling you what?” He tiredly mumbled. 

“About your marriage. It's nice that you opened up to me, even if I couldn't exactly say or do anything to make it better.” I explained. He hummed again. 

“Well, I'm drunk and sad and I overshare when I g-get like this.”

“It's okay. I won't bring it up when you're sober.” I promised, pulling on the oversized t-shirt I wore to bed. 

“Much appreciated.” He opened his eyes and sat up a little. “Next time we drink together, I'm getting you totally rat-arsed.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I'd like to see you try. When's your next sesh?” I asked. 

“I’m planning on heading back to that bar I dragged your whining ass to before. The one with the barlady who quite clearly wanted a slice of your boyfriend.” 

My eyes narrowed at the thought and I hmphed in response. 

“But I'm not extending the invitation to you. It's quite the Rick hotspot and I need to get myself laid. It's been a while.” He admitted to my surprise. 

“Wow. We're real open tonight.” I observed. 

“Well it's like you said. You won't bring it up when I'm sober.” He said – no – warned. “Shut up and turn everything off, will you?” He grumbled, rolling onto his side and flipping the duvet over himself. 

“Fine.” I sighed, turning the TV off, then the light. I fumbled my way towards the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Night, Rick. See you in the morning.” I called behind me. 

I was used to his non-verbal responses, and smiled when I saw him waft his arm dismissively in the dark, letting loose an irritated grunt. 

…

It was good to be home. The journey back Tailor was acting his usual self; nothing of the night before had been mentioned. I knew that would be the case, so it didn't come as a surprise and I certainly wasn't about to be the one to bring it up. Tailor had put his trust in me; opened up and told me his pain and that took a lot. So quietly I felt closer to him; and despite his silence on the subject I could feel a slight change in him. He appeared a little more relaxed around me, and it was nice to see. 

He'd dropped me off at my home and left with a simple nod as his goodbye, and I told him to drive safely. A statement he always rolled his eyes at like I was an overbearing mother. Thankfully his sarcastic responses had died down over time.

When I entered my house I.C was already there; I'd been expecting him, but it still set my heart racing when I laid eyes on him. I wordlessly crossed the living room carpet and climbed onto his lap, sitting sideways and wrapping my arms around him, burying my face in his neck. 

“Tell me about Diane.” I whispered to him. His ex wife was someone who had come up in a number of conversations since we'd been together; it was to be expected, she was the mother of his daughter. Still, I didn't know an awful lot about their relationship, and I was curious now more than ever. 

“Diane? Wh-why'd you want to talk about her?” He asked, completely befuddled. 

“I wanna make sure she treated you right.” I explained, leaning back so I could look him in the eye. He chuckled softly at my reasoning.

“She did. She's a nice lady, perhaps one of the nicest I've met.” He admitted, looking down at an invisible spot on my chin. “But she wasn't my forever. And I wasn't hers.” His shoulders lifted and gently dropped. 

“So your divorce wasn't a bitter one?” I asked, tilting my head as I played with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Oh, not at all. W-we parted mutually when we realised that being together was only holding each other back from what we wanted to do. I wanted to travel a lot for my business, she wanted to stay put, she hated that I was all over the place. Never wanted to come with me or anything, so towards the end we barely spent any time together.” He trailed off, looking back up to my eyes. “So we realised we were incompatible and simply moved on as friends.”

“Do you still talk sometimes?”

“Occasionally, but we both have our own lives now, really the only thing we have in common now is Beth. When we see each other, it's when doing something for her or the grandkids.” He explained. “She's still dear to me, of course. She always will be, but like I said. She wasn't my forever.” 

“What is your forever, your business?” I questioned. He laughed at some silent punchline. 

“Baby, I hope you're joking.” He smiled. 

“No, why? Your business is everything to you, you've put so much into it-”

“I'm hoping that it's you, truth be told.” He interrupted. “I'm no spring chicken, I'm getting to the point where I just want to enjoy the rest of my life with my favourite person, and that's you. So, as far as I'm concerned, _you're_ my everything. For as long as you'll keep me.” 

I blinked at him. Rick and I's relationship had blossomed rather suddenly, and falling for eachother had taken no time at all. Things just flowed between us, it all fell into place. So in a way, I wasn't surprised by what he was saying. Conversely and somehow at the same time, I was _completely and utterly_ surprised. He just came out and said it so easily, didn't stutter once. Sometimes it astounded me just how open and honest he was, never scared to share his feelings. I thought about it for a moment and realised that was a big part of why I loved him. 

“I'm not planning on tossing you out anytime soon. I think I kinda like you.” I mumbled in response, feeling my face heat up as I struggled to deal with his words. He smirked in amusement, then pressed a kiss to my cheek. 

“I’m glad.” He whispered. “God, it's good to have you back. I'm starting to resent that guy for keeping you away from me.” 

“Don't go too hard on him.” I giggled. 

“I th-think we need to work out a schedule between us; for how many hours he gets versus me. I'll have more, of course. I have boyfriend priority.” He told me and I snorted, shaking my head. He grinned and leaned in to kiss my neck, his goatee tickling me like it always did.

“Or maybe I need to get a second job being your assistant.” 

“Hmm are you sure that's a g-good idea? Remember last time?” He pulled back to give me a meaningful look. My thoughts immediately turned to the time I tried making an ice cream cone in his truck, and promptly blushed. 

“Good point.” I nodded. He licked his lips, his expression turning just a little flirtatious. 

“We'd never get any work done but it sure would be fun.” He said, his tone low and rumbling in my ears so wonderfully. I shuddered. 

“I should probably stick to juggling rolls of fabric for Tailor.” I chuckled. 

“Maybe it's for the best.” He agreed. “As long as you can put up with me turning up as soon as you clock off every day.”

“Hmm, I'm sure I can deal with that.” I nodded, leaning in for a kiss before my huge smile had a chance to fade.


	15. Distraction (I.C/Reader NSFW)

I was bored and I was horny and I was staring at Rick from the other end of the sofa. He was reading; had been all day. He'd found a new book all about flavour combinations and he was pawing over those pages like a religious text. He was doing that thing with his tongue; where he drags it back and forth over his bottom lip, like he always does when he's concentrating. I had been allowing myself to stare at him for a long time, since I knew he was too absorbed in the bloody book to notice. His hair was down, though he'd borrowed one of my thin black Alice bands to push his hair out of his face. It always fell in his eyes when he was reading and I'd become exasperated by seeing him push it back every three seconds, so I'd fetched it for him. I didn't anticipate how damn hot he'd look in it, however. 

Hence, the horniness. 

I was struck with the urge to be closer to him, so I shifted on the sofa to lay down, resting my head in his lap. Without speaking or even looking at me, he brought his free hand down to stroke my hair. I closed my eyes and let him for a while, enjoying the soothing touch. He would weave his fingers through it, pushing it backwards and stroking over my scalp. Every now and then he'd find a knot and it'd pull a little. I liked the pull a little too much, the heat in my body wasn't subsiding. I rolled onto my side, facing his stomach. With my head on his knees I could see his package up close; I tricked myself into thinking I could see the outline of his cock laying sideways in his pants, but it could very well have been a fold in the fabric, a mere illusion. The temptation to reach out and find out was real, and my hand twitched. 

I didn't allow myself the satisfaction, but I did let my hand rest by my face, on his upper thigh. I sensed him peeking down at me, and peered up at him too. Our eyes met through the gap between his body and the book and I shot him a little smile. 

“You okay down there?” He asked. My eyes dropped and I squeezed his thigh, humming thoughtfully. I mischievously inched my hand further and further up his thigh, waiting for his reaction. Well, he didn't try to stop me. 

My hand soon met the bulge, which turned out was in fact what I thought it was. I licked my lips as I stroked my palm across it. Rick remained silent, watching me from above with lips slightly parted. At my touch he immediately started to harden, his cock twitched as it filled and I eventually wrapped my hand around it as best I could through his pants. I tugged on it, looking up to his eyes again to see him staring down at me; his cheeks had reddened and his breathing had picked up. 

I shifted on the sofa again, rolling onto my belly and scooting closer so my head was above his crotch. I continued to jerk him through his pants and his eyes glazed over a little, a soft moan escaping his parted lips. 

“Wh-what did I do to deserve this?” He asked quietly, his hand going lax and dropping the book he was reading onto the sofa next to him, the pages made a fluttering sound as it fell before landing with a thud. 

“You're just sat there looking like you do, without even trying you get me feeling hot and I-” I paused, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. I reached inside and freed his cock. “I can't stop myself.” 

I licked my palm, covering it in spit before wrapping it around him and pulling. A louder moan ripped from him and he rolled his head back momentarily before deciding he preferred watching me. His hand was still on my hair, stroking gently, his fingertips curling and massaging my scalp; though they tightened to a grip at my next move. I took him into my mouth, feeling his cock stiffen further, growing fully hard in the hot, wet orifice. He cursed under his breath, his hips bucking up a little before he gathered himself. 

I blew him slowly, dragging my lips up and down and twisting as I turned my head, my hand following my lips with a tight grip. He groaned loudly, panting and altering his hold on my hair so it was bundled in a ponytail away from my face. 

“Babygirl.” He breathed, I watched his other hand drop to the cushion next to him, squeezing around it as he struggled to control himself. “Your mouth feels s-s-so good. You're so good baby, such a good girl.” 

I moaned around him at those words, squeezing my thighs together behind me, my pussy clenching at the praise. 

“You want m-me to fuck you, babygirl?” He asked sweetly, his voice rising from its usual pitch. “You want me to take care of you?”

I lifted off of him for a moment to speak but continued to jerk him. “I just wanna take care of _you_. I want you to cum in my mouth.”

“Ohh Christ.” He groaned before I'd even finished my sentence. It was like I'd broken him; his eyes fluttered shut and a deep whine left him, getting louder as I sucked on the head of his cock. He twitched on the sofa, his stomach flexing when I took him to the back of my throat and swallowed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He whispered.

I hummed in amusement around him, loving the reactions I could pull from him so quickly. I moved up and down his length, dragging my tongue up the side of it as I did, rolling it around the tip whenever I reached it like I knew he enjoyed. He twisted my hair in his hand, getting a better grip, though he never forced me to move at all. He let me set the pace, which I enjoyed immensely. I reached one hand into his boxers where his balls were still covered, and played with them while I sucked him. He shifted, widening his legs to give me better access. I looked up at him, meeting his eyes as I made a show of pulling off of him, dragging my tongue up his length as I did. 

“God, you’re s-so hot.” He told me, letting go of the pillow he was gripping and lifting his arm to clutch at his own hair. “Ke-keep going. Please, baby.”

His voice had turned strained, desperate, and it hadn’t taken me much time to get him that way. He was close, he wanted to cum. When I flicked the head of his cock with my tongue I tasted his precum and groaned, I couldn't wait for him to fill my mouth with his cum. I slid my tongue back down, tilting my head in a way that had his cock laying against my cheek as I peered up at him. His voice wavered as he moaned, his brow curving a little as he dropped his hand back down to the pillow, squeezing it hard again. 

“Y-you're gonna make me- fuck, I-I-I'm close!” He groaned, fidgeting, his hips shifting. He was clearly resisting the urge to thrust. I took him back into my mouth, and his resistance faltered; he bucked once, though I had been expecting him to. “Shit. I'm-I'm sorry.”

He spurred me on and I upped the ante; bobbing my head up and down quickly, applying suction as I did. His sounds grew louder, more intense, his spine arching off the back of the sofa. I could feel my hair being pulled at the scalp, where his hand was tightening against his will. I moaned in satisfaction, and his breath hitched. 

“Fuck! I gonna- I'm cumming.” He grunted, his hips lifting and pushing deeper into my mouth. I let him, encouraged him even, pushing my head down so my nose met his groin. I could feel his cock jumping in my mouth as he reached his peak, and hot, thick liquid pumped down my throat. He groaned indulgently as he came, hunching forwards over my head as pleasure rippled through every nerve ending. I swallowed the results of my efforts; though I was quickly running out of air. 

Perfectly timed, he slumped back against the sofa, releasing my hair. I lifted off of him, licking away the string of cum and spit joining us as I did. I was panting from a combination of arousal and oxygen deprivation; and he went to pet my hair soothingly. 

“Ba-baby. Jesus Christ. Y-y-you're incredible.” He told me, breathing heavily; sounding totally spent. I pushed myself up so I was kneeling on the sofa next to him, he watched me with a slack jaw, twisting around and reaching for my hips. He kissed me; it was a sloppy, yet eager kiss and I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

“That was fun.” I mumbled against his lips with a giggle.

“Was? We aren't finished.” He replied.

“Yes we are. I've disturbed you enough, you'd better get back to your book.” I smirked, pulling back to look at him. 

“Mm. It's time for me to return the favour.” He protested and I shook my head, wrestling out of his arms and dropping down onto the sofa, laying with my legs draped over his thighs. 

“I need nothing in return, pleasing you was all I wanted.” I assured him with a satisfied grin. He licked his lips, stroking a hand up my thigh. 

“Beautiful…” He whispered, tilting his head, glancing down at my body. 

“Back to work. The sooner you finish that book, the sooner I get my man back.” I teased and he rolled his eyes playfully. 

“You know, if you wanted my attention you could've just asked.” He chuckled, shaking his head at me. 

“I prefer my method.” I shrugged. “Get reading, I saw how close you are to finishing. Then we can go upstairs.” I flashed a suggestive smile, and with a look of lust in his lovely brown eyes, he wordlessly picked up the book.


	16. Read Between the Lines (Tailor/Hair Stylist NSFW)

I was quite surprised to hear from him again, honestly. Sure, he'd talked about meeting again, seeing how well I could handle him, but I was convinced he was bullshitting; just trying to rile me up. Then out of the blue he'd booked an appointment with me, an appointment which involved me coming to him rather than him coming to my barbershop at the citadel, of course. Lazy, entitled bastard. Well, not lazy. But definitely entitled. 

I went along anyway, not breathing a word of dissatisfaction at the need to travel with all my kit. I'd just finished bringing it all through the portal – my case of hairdressing scissors, combs, brushes, clips and the like, another box of hair products, a mat to protect the floor as well as a cape to protect his clothes – it took a couple of trips but he waited until I'd done it all to ask;

“What're you bringing all that for?”

I stared at him blankly for a few moments. “It's my hairdressing stuff.”

“Well yes, I can see that. Why is it in my house?” 

“Uhh, so I can cut your hair with it? Th-that's what I'm here for, isn't it? We have about an hour before I need to get back to the barbershop, last time I left Morty in charge didn't go so well. Riq IV didn't talk to me for a month.” I told him, hoping he'd take the hint and show me to whatever room he wanted me in. 

“Oh no, I don't want you to cut my hair. I have a woman who comes over from Cambridge who does that and she's not due for another three weeks.” He waved his hand around in a little circle and rolled his eyes at me.

“Oh, so you get all your hairdressers to come to you?” I cocked a brow in annoyance. “Wh-why the hell am I here, then?”

“Bloody hell, do I have to spell it out? I-I-I'm surprised you haven't already figured that out considering what happened the last time we met.” He grumbled, crossing his arms and sticking his hip out to the side. 

“You made an appointment to have sex with me?” I questioned. That was a new one, and I was far too surprised to phrase it in a slightly more subtle way. He scowled, his face scrunching up in a way that I couldn't help but smirk at. 

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Send you a picture of my dick? O-o-or straight up ask you to come over for a-a shag, like some sort of booty call- some sort of hooligan?” The guy was comically embarrassed, though he tried to hide it behind layers of defensiveness and annoyance. I was beginning to find him annoyingly cute, but I ignored that feeling.

I laughed. I shouldn't have, I knew that was a bad move, but I simply couldn't help it. 

“I'd expect a man like you, intelligent as you s-supposedly are, to read between the lines. I did tell you I had the whole afternoon free with the house to myself.”

“I thought that was your way of telling me you weren't fussy about the time. I should've known, though, th-there isn't a lot you aren't fussy about.”

“Are you trying to make me angry? I-I-I can quite easily tell you to piss off.” 

I laughed again, shaking my head as I close the gap between us. 

“You're so fucking easy.” I muttered, then took his chin in my hand and brought him close for a kiss. I expected him to struggle at first, with his temper so on edge I was surprised he didn't shove me away. He melted into the kiss instantly, however, unfolding his arms and letting them hover at his sides. 

He easily parted his lips for me when I teased his bottom lip with my tongue, and his hands found their way to my jacket when I slipped it inside. He moaned quietly, and it made my cock stir in my pants, beginning to fill and press against my zipper. He was the one to pull away, taking a moment to look me up and down with his pupils blown wide and his lids low; he was clearly aroused. 

“Y-you're still walking around in that bloody jacket?” He muttered, then pushed it backwards off my shoulders. Despite his dislike of the jacket, he still handled it carefully and hung it up on a coat rack by the front door. “Shoes off, please.” Then, without another word he turned around and headed towards the stairs. I went after him after following his instructions, embarrassingly hot on his heels. 

Tailor's house was nice. It wasn't as overtly luxurious as I thought it was going to be. I had been surprised when I'd turned up at his address and it was not a big private mansion somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Images akin to Buckingham palace had crossed my mind. But no, it was a fairly normal looking home, on a normal looking street. Of course, it was a very pristine house on a very pristine street, and it was a gated community, but it wasn't as over the top and showy as I had come to expect. Perhaps he wasn't as materialistic or stuck up as I originally thought.

“I wondered for a while which house to bring you to.” He said, shattering any illusions I was beginning to have. I almost stopped dead in my tracks on the stairs, but I was a man and his ass was at eye level, so I kept going. “It was between this one or the one in France. But I prefer the decor of the bedrooms in this one.” 

Right as he reached the top step, he spun on his heel to look at me. I almost fell right back down again. 

“And I figured th-that was the most important factor, considering that's where we'll be spending our time. I hope it's to your taste.” He added, his expression nonchalant. I shook my head and stifled a laugh after he'd turned away again; did he really think I'd give a shit about the decor?

He led us into the master bedroom, it was large and had an ensuite as well as a walk in wardrobe that I could see was full of perfectly colour ordered outfits; mostly suits. The room had dark, highly polished wooden floors and walls painted a cool, neutral grey. Artwork decorated the walls, abstract paintings splashed with shots of red mostly, they looked to have been done by the same artist. The bed was in the middle of the room and it was huge, piled high with perfectly placed throw pillows and covered in a brilliant white fur blanket; I was unsure of whether it was real or not, but if it was fake it was a good fake. It was the sort of bed you had to resist launching yourself at, it looked so incredibly cozy. 

As I was admiring the room, Tailor had taken his burgundy suit jacket off and was hanging it up in his closet. I cocked a brow when he removed his pants as well, hanging them too; I guessed that part of the foreplay was taken care of…

“You uh, y-you sure you don't want me to do that?” I questioned and I heard him scoff from inside the closet. 

“This suit is worth more than you probably earn in a month–”

“I think you'd be surprised–”

“And I'm well aware that Ricks aren't the most delicate when it comes to this kind of thing. I don't want you pulling a seam or abrading the silk–”

“Perhaps you should consider using higher quality materials to make your suits if you're worried about–”

“ _I beg your pardon!_ ” Tailor spun around, his hands on his hips; looking a lot less intimidating in his underpants. I tried to ignore the swell of my cock when he raised his voice like that. “Sanchez suits are made from the _highest_ quality-”

“I'm winding you up, calm down. Carry on with your damage control, you're killing my boner.” I rolled my eyes, even though he most certainly was not killing anything. 

“The shirt is fine. I'm not worried about that.” He informed me and I resisted rolling my eyes again. He was one prissy bitch, that was for sure. He approached me, walking unstoppably so I was backed up over to the bed, I fell back onto it and he crawled on top of me. I could do nothing but stare at him the whole time, suddenly forgetting everything I was supposed to do.

Tailor kissed me forcefully, his tongue pushed its way past my lips rather than waiting for them to part. I grunted, bringing a hand up to cup the back of his neck as his hips slid forwards, our cocks meeting. Tailor chuckled behind my lips and he pulled away just barely enough to speak. 

“Mm, already getting hard.” He commented before connecting our lips again. His kisses were forceful, possessive, a little hard to keep up with but they were _good_. He gyrated his hips rubbing up against me and I could feel his cock hardening too; I let loose an embarrassing moan and my face was burning. 

When he pulled away he was a little breathless, but nothing like how I was. He looked down at where the bulges in our clothes were pressed firmly together, then looked back up to my eyes through his lashes, without lifting his head. He paused for a few moments, then reached for my low cut v-neck, pulling it up and over my head. He urged me to shuffle backwards so I was laying on the bed rather than sitting on the edge, then he slid down my legs a little.

Tailor unbuttoned my pants, pulling on them until my brain caught up and I raised up so he could remove them; underwear and all. My heart was hammering and my cock was pulsing, feeling hot and tight. I sat up and loosened his tie, sliding it out from underneath his collar and dropping it on the bed next to me. His shirt was next, I unbuttoned it but my hands were shaking and I struggled. Why was I suddenly so nervous? He caught my hand with his own and smirked at me before unbuttoning it the rest of the way himself. He draped it carefully over the edge of the bed. 

“I want to suck your cock.” He told me, reaching for my hand and guiding it to the bulge in his underwear. I stroked him, feeling him twitch under my palm. “But I think it's only fair you return the favour. I already sucked your dick once before.” He added. 

“Fuck, an-anything you want.” I found myself saying, inwardly cringing at how desperate and enamoured I sounded. 

“Lay down.” He instructed, and I did as I was told. I heard the slide of fabric as he presumably removed his underwear, then he was moving to straddle my upper body, his back to me. 

“Holy shit.” I whispered, feeling his hot breath against my cock as he got into position, scooting backwards. His cock hung down close to my face and I got more than an eyeful. His balls and ass were waxed clean of all hair, it seemed, but he still had some surrounding the base of his cock, neatly groomed. I wondered if he'd done it especially for me. Probably not.

Before anything else happened, he quickly shifted closer to the edge of the bed. I heard stuff moving around under the bed, and when he moved back into position he tossed something behind him; it landed by my head on the mattress. It was a bottle of lube.

“You know, if you fancy doing something useful back there… save us some time later.” He commented, and I licked my lips in anticipation. I reached for his cock, tugging on it slowly and hearing him gasp, his back arching just a little to move his hips closer to me. 

And then he got to work too. He wrapped his fist around the base of my cock then drew a circle around the head with his tongue. His hot, wet, skilled tongue. I let out a loud, shaky groan, hips fidgeting on the bed. 

“Think about thrusting, and I'll bite.” He simply said, and I didn't want to find out if he was serious or not, so I kept my ass planted firmly on the bed. His mouth covered me then, he flattened his tongue and applied pressure with it as he slid down my length, drawing up and down slowly and deliciously. 

“Ohh, fuck.” I groaned, taking his cock into my own mouth as well, holding onto his thighs for support as I bobbed my head up and down; slowly at first. 

He would take my cock all the way until I could feel the tightness of his throat, then he'd pull back and stroke his tongue back and forth over the head, applying firm suction and squeezing with his hand at the base and pulling up. He was skilled with his method, though it was much different to mine. I moved one hand up and around, fingers sliding between his cheeks and stroking over his back passage. I heard him groan and felt it in my cock.

He picked up the pace, bobbing up and down quickly and coaxing a steady stream of groans from me that I could not seem to control. I knew he was loving every minute of it, making such a state of me, and he did seem a lot more restrained than I was, his own moans coming softer and quieter. I was determined to change that, so I released his cock momentarily and reached for the lube. I pumped some out onto my fingers then spread it over his entrance, gently pressing a single digit past the ring of muscle. I felt and heard him chuckle as he pushed his hips back, egging me on. 

I took his cock back into my mouth and worked faster, applying more suction and focusing more attention on the head, every time I pulled back to do so I heard a high pitched grunt and his hips would buck just a little. I shifted my finger inside him, stroking his inner walls and gradually easing deeper. He wasn't as tight as I expected, and it gave me more of an insight than I wanted into how often he must… I let the thought fall flat and inserted a second finger. I began to thrust them, noticing immediately his distraction as I did. He pulled off of my cock completely and I heard him panting, his hand loosely jacking me off. 

“Oh god. Deeper.” He commanded, and I obliged, burying my fingers to the knuckle with each thrust, angling them slightly differently each time until I found the sweet spot. Tailor moaned loudly, his breaths puffing quickly over my cock. I pulled off of him and jerked him with my fist and I watched a string of precum drip down onto my chin, his cock was flushed deep red and was hard as rock. 

I took a gamble and eased a third finger inside him, slowing down just a little. The reaction I got was priceless, his chest dropped to rest against my torso and he let his head lean against my thigh. He was moaning freely now, not seeming to give a shit about what he looked or sounded like; I felt pride swell within me at managing to get him like that. He'd all but forgotten about my cock, just holding onto it loosely at this point, but I didn't mind at all. 

“St-stop! I'm g-” He panted suddenly, shifting to try and move away from me. I let go of his cock and slowed my fingers down to a gentle rocking motion. “Oh fuck.” He whined. His cock oozed precum in a steady flow, dripping down onto my chin and neck. I sat up enough to suck gently on his balls, one after the other, then I flicked my tongue back and forth over his perineum. Slipping my fingers out of him completely, I swiped my tongue over his opening and number of times before grabbing a hold of his hips and rolling him off of me. 

Tailor ended up on his back with his legs spread wide, and I was kneeling between them. He looked incredible; his chest rising and falling quickly, his arms splayed out either side of him laying limp, his expression softer than I'd ever seen it with his brow curved and lips parted. His cock lay thick and wet against his belly, leaving a spot of precum there. His hair was just a little out of place, and his face was red and dewy with perspiration. He looked so fucking hot I moaned at the sight of him, grabbing a pillow and bringing it under his hips to lift them. 

“Y-you ready? Want me to fuck you now?” I asked, picking up the lube again. Tailor nodded his head firmly. 

“Y-yeah. Fuck yeah, y-you better do a good job.” He told me, but almost all of the superiority and authority had drained from his voice. Had I broken him? I grinned and squeezed a generous amount of lube onto my cock, stroking it a couple of times to distribute it. 

I crawled forwards on the bed and reached my hands under his knees, parting them wider and lifting them. He seemed to remember himself and frowned up at me at this. 

“I'm not a damn pretzel.” He hissed, and I eased up on his legs with a roll of my eyes. Closing the gap between us, my cock slid against his momentarily, and we shared a groan. “Fuck. Jus-just get on with it.” Tailor panted. 

I took my cock in my hand and guided it to his entrance, pushing forwards in a smooth motion until I was buried to the hilt. Tailor grunted, fidgeting on the bed and grabbing hold of the fur throw. I wondered if I'd hurt him, but quickly realised that wasn't the case when he started subtly rocking down on me, urging me to move. I did exactly that, holding onto his legs for leverage as I thrust into him, watching him bounce up and down with each one. He looked up at me, a challenge in his eyes as he bit back a moan.

“Just cause y-you're on top, don't forget who calls the shots. If you don't do it right I'm changing things up.” He told me. I snorted, leaning over him and holding myself up either side of his head. He peered up at me, his eyes widening. 

“I'll do it right, trust me.” I promised, fucking into him at a different angle, a little faster, a little harder. He gasped, his body going rigid and his eyes squeezing shut. I felt his ass clenching my cock and I groaned deeply. “Fuck, that's it.” I whispered. 

He reached up and held onto one of my arms for… support? For dear life? I wasn't sure, but I bit my bottom lip when his manicured nails dug in a little, spurring me on. I shifted slightly, leaning closer to him so that my lower abdomen brushed up against his slick cock, everything felt sticky and hot and Tailor moaned loudly, arching his spine to try and gain firmer contact. 

“Is this good enough for you, huh? Y-you like that?” I questioned, flashing a smile that was all teeth and dark eyes. He panted and opened his eyes, frowning as much as he could through his adorable pleasure filled expression. He was loving it. 

“Sh-shut up you ignoble hairdresser. You're nothing special.” He spat back and I laughed. 

“I'm nothing special yet you invited me over here to give you a good dicking. What does that make you, huh?” I quipped back, bending down to lick the side of his neck before latching on, sucking firmly. He attempted to struggle away, making a sound of disgust.

“I'm just using you. You know that, right? I knew you'd be an easy lay so that's why I called you over here.” He growled, his nails digging deeper into my arm. I gave some especially rough thrusts, pounding into his ass until a loud slapping sound arose. He whined, a high pitch sound I knew he'd be embarrassed about. 

“Of course, baby.” I teased, licking at the red mark I'd left on his neck. That'd stay there for a while and he'd hate me for it. Perfect.

“Don't call me that!” He growled. I stopped any further protests with a kiss. Our teeth clashed a little because of our fervid motion and my body ground more firmly against his cock. He moaned behind my lips and I felt more precum flowing from him, smearing against my stomach. My cock felt tight and gloriously sensitive, I could feel myself getting close, even closer when Tailor's ass gave another rhythmic clench. I broke the kiss and opened my eyes to look at him as I pressed my forehead against his. I got away with it for approximately two seconds before he was pushing my head away from his with a sour look on his face. Alright then, I guess he wasn't one for affection. Not even during sex. 

I licked my lips and straightened up, a string of precum connected our bodies for a moment before I wrapped my hand around his cock and jerked him quickly. He moaned louder than he had before, his mouth hanging wide open, wide enough for me to notice a slight indentation of a scar in the middle of his tongue; the kind that could only result from a piercing. That was surprising, and I couldn't help but find the image of him with his tongue pierced kind of hot, and my orgasm threatened to take over. Luckily I reined myself in. 

“D-d-don't you dare fucking stop.” Tailor panted. His hair was thoroughly messed up at this point, strands coming loose and falling into his face and splaying out around his head on the bed. 

“You gonna cum, huh? You gonna cum with this _ignoble_ cock in your ass?” I growled, jerking his cock faster, trying to save myself the embarrassment of cumming before he did. 

“Shu- shut the fuck up.” He said breathlessly “Oh god.” He whined. 

“Cum.” I commanded, and though he didn't react well to being told what to do, he couldn't stop himself from obeying. A few tight strokes over the head of his cock had him spilling, his muscles tightening and pulsing around me as he shot spurts of cum right up to his chest with a long, throaty groan. The visual and the tight sensation around my cock had me joining him, burying myself completely and filling him to the brim, cursing loudly and allowing his name to slip from my lips just once. 

“Fuck.” Tailor breathed, his body relaxing, his white knuckle grip on the fur blanket letting up. I gave a few more slow thrusts, making the most of the extra slickness before pulling out, hissing as the tight ring squeezed the head of my cock one last time. 

I froze, looking down at Tailor without really knowing what to do. I couldn't lay down next to him, could I? He wouldn't like that, he wasn't one for cuddles, right? But just getting up and getting dressed felt rude. I found myself sitting back on my heels, doing nothing like an idiot. After a while, he noticed. 

“What're you looking at? Wh-why’re you just sitting there like that. It's creepy.” He frowned, gingerly rolling over and making his way off the edge of the bed. He headed towards to the ensuite bathroom and closed the door behind him. I let out a breath and slumped down onto the bed, face first, enjoying the softness of the fur. 

I found myself not wanting to leave. It was because of the comfortable bed, of course. No other reason. 

When Tailor returned he'd dressed himself in a robe, deep green with a gold, quilted trim. A typical rich man robe. He walked over and picked the bottle of lube up from the bed and put it away in whatever secret spot he had hidden under the bed. Then he was gathering up his shirt and tie, which were now on the floor; I watched him as he hung them up in his walk-in closet.

“Are you staying?” He asked me with his back to me. I hesitated for a while before answering.

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked. He sighed quietly, busying himself with neatening up the clothes hanging in his closet. 

“I'm not telling you to leave. Whether you stay or not is entirely up to you.” He told me. 

“Well, if I s-stay, are you gonna join me?” 

Tailor turned around, forgetting his pointless fiddling. He crossed his arms. 

“What, in bed? You want to _snuggle_?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. Before I could answer he sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “Some people are so needy. But I'll accommodate, this time.” 

He made his way back over to the bed, laying down beside me. I took his hip in my hand and rolled him onto his side so he was facing me. I tugged on the tie around his waist and opened it up, slipping my hands inside his robe and around his back. I kissed him, feeling him respond straight away. I played him like a fiddle, kissing him until he was breathless and wrapping his arms around my neck, then I pulled away just slightly.

“I didn't say anything. Y-you realise you climbed back into bed with me of your own accord, right?” I whispered against his mouth. He didn't move for a moment, but he was soon pushing me away. I kept hold of him though. “Stop it. It's okay, I won't tell anyone.”

“You're insufferable.” He told me, scowling at me with a red face. I snickered, and kissed him again.


	17. Bath Time (I.C/Reader NSFW)

_Do you want to take a bath with me?_

It was an easy question to answer. In close confines with Rick? Sans clothes? Dripping wet and steamy? A total yes. I hadn't hesitated to agree with him when he asked. The mischievous smile that appeared on his face before he ran off into the bathroom was nothing but disconcerting, however. Still, I followed him upstairs and made a pit stop at my bedroom to get undressed as I heard the bath begin to fill up, my heart rate already beginning to creep up, my body heating with anticipation. It was rare Rick and I got the house to ourselves. My parents were on a trip for the weekend, and we were absolutely making the most of it. 

Almost every room in the house had seen some action at this point. The bathroom, though, was a new one. 

I stripped down to nothing and ran a brush through my hair. I took a moment to groom myself in the mirror, wanting to look my best for him as silly as it was considering I was about to hop into a bathtub. I waited until the sound of flowing, sploshing water stopped, then waited a little more just to keep him on his toes, then headed down the hallway butt naked towards the bathroom. 

He'd closed the door behind him, which I thought was odd, and I frowned as I paused in front of it. What was even more puzzling was the smell of something tropical wafting from the room; it didn't smell like any of the bubble bath I owned. I promptly pushed open the door, stepping inside. Rick was already laying back in the bath, his face twisted in an impish grin. I still had no clue what he was up to, but when I took a few steps forward until I could actually see inside the bath, the penny dropped. 

He was sitting in a vat of thick, golden goop.

“Rick? What the hell?” I questioned, raising a brow. “Is the water supposed to look like that?”

He chuckled and sat up, displacing some of the goo and making a slurping sound. He lifted his hand – the substance clung to him and stretched, glistening like honey – and he beckoned me over with his finger. 

“It's my newest project, baby. I-i-it just mixes into water and turns into this. I made it taste like pineapple too, your favourite.” He told me, licking some off the back of his hand. “I've been dying to test it out. You wanna hop in?” He asked. 

“Oh gosh…” I breathed, looking down into the tub. “I have a few concerns.”

Sex with Rick was fun. Real fun. He had distinct tastes, and his biggest kink was messy, slippery, and a hell of a lot like a food fight. I always loved playing in that way, it was new, different, exciting. I often tossed caution to the wind and let all sorts of substances into the bedroom. Though that was always in small quantities, and didn't often get too close to any orifices (other than my mouth). 

Rick's smile faded a little. “What's wrong, sweetie?”

“I'm just a little…” I trailed off, unsure of how to word my worries.

“I know this isn't your kink. You're always so good about indulging me and ba-baby I gotta say, I love that about you. If this is too much though, we don't have to-”

“That's not it! I love the idea of it, you know I always have fun.” I assured him, coming closer and kneeling down by the bath, sighing as I reached into the tub. I dragged my hand through the thick substance, it felt so smooth and slippery and… frankly hydrating, I wondered what it'd do to my skin… 

“You can be honest.” Rick whispered, kissing my free hand where it sat on the edge of the bath. The goo felt wonderful, to be honest. I was already imagining what it would feel like to be covered in it, having his hands all over me too, slipping into every curve and feeling all of me so easily and sensually. Arousal bloomed in me and I bit my lip. 

“Well, usually when we play it's just a little whipped cream, or chocolate, or- I mean, this is a whole tub I'm getting into. I'm worried about my… my…” I paused, sighing to myself. “My bits.”

“Your bits.” He repeated, his brow curving and an endeared smile appearing on his face. “God you're cute. Your bits will be fine, this is totally body safe. I made sure of that. This- it's pretty similar to lube in its ingredients, really, though I've been altering it for a few months now, getting the texture just right. I think I've cracked it.” 

“Oh! It's fine, then? I don't have to worry about stocking up on cranberry juice?” I asked, a smile spreading across my face. 

“Cranberry…” He frowned, then it clicked. “Oh, no, not at all baby. Unless you really like cranberry juice.” He assured me. 

“Okay good.” I grinned, rising to my feet and making to get in the tub, but I paused when another thought hit me. “Oh wait, what do we do with it when we're done? We can't just drain it, can we?” 

“No, I thought of that too. It'll dissolve in a few hours and we'll be left with pineapple flavoured water. It'll go down no problem, and we can just hop in the shower.”

“Of course you thought of that, my wonderful genius.” I giggled, stepping gingerly into the bath. He'd put down a rubber mat at the bottom of the bath so it wasn't as slippery, but he still took both my hands and held onto me as I climbed in, sitting down between his legs. It was toasty warm, Rick knew I liked my baths hot, and I moaned softly as I sunk down into it. 

Oh man, it felt incredible, like one heck of a spa treatment. I took a moment to lean back – he'd been generous enough to give me the end without the faucets – and enjoy the sensation of it spreading over my tummy and my chest, covering my arms and my back. Oh wow. I might have to ask for some just for my own personal use. It was extremely soothing and relaxing. I felt Rick's hands on me, touching my knees at first and then spreading up my thighs, stroking me there and covering all the spots the goo had yet to touch. His fingers kneaded my skin like they always did; explorative, greedy even at times, excitable for sure. A soft sound came from the back of his throat and I knew he was already becoming aroused. 

I opened my eyes and met his, they were full of need and I let out a shaky breath. He was going to devour me, I knew that look. He slipped his hands up my body, carrying his whole self forward and we naturally found ourselves falling into a position where we were sort of sitting between each other's legs, groins close together. His hands slid around my back, stroking up and down my spine, to my sides, over my curves. He groaned, his fingers sinking into my flesh just a little. I knew I'd gained a little weight since we'd been together (so had he) but something told me he liked it more than he let on.

“God, you feel so nice.” He breathed, leaning in and nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck, kissing me there as his hands continued their expedition of my body. They slid under my butt, squeezing me, his fingers slipping between the cheeks just a little and making me jump. He pulled away chuckling before connecting our lips in a deep, slow kiss. I moaned, wrapping my arms around his neck and slipping my fingers through his hair; some of the goo got in it but I didn't think he'd mind. 

I could taste the pineapple flavour on his tongue when it entered my mouth, and it prompted me to break the kiss so I could lick his chest where some of it was smeared. It tasted delicious, like actual fresh pineapple, it didn't taste artificial like I half expected it to. It had a similar texture to honey on my tongue, though it wasn't half as sticky. I kissed my way down his chest to his nipple, flicking my tongue back and forth over it and hearing him moan above me. I sucked on it for a few moments, feeling his chest expand quickly, I swear I could hear his heart pounding. His cock was hard and I reached a hand towards it, stroking it under the surface of the thick liquid. Rick whined, his body jolting and going tense as I pleasured him. I pulled back to look him in the eye.

“How's that? Does it feel nice with all this stuff?” I asked him quietly and he nodded firmly. 

“Fuck yes.” He sighed. His hands moved around to my front, dragging handfuls of the slippery stuff to my breasts where he fondled them, massaging in the goo and thumbing over my nipples, bringing them to peaks. One of his hands moved down further, slipping between my legs. 

Oh Christ. His fingers slid so easily through my folds, it was such an incredible texture and my pussy clenched around nothing as he slid back and forth over my clit without a hint of friction. Parting my folds he spread the stuff all over me, and I immediately felt a pleasant tingling.

“Oh my goodness. That feels…” I trailed off as his fingers dipped lower. I tilted my hips, giving him easier access, and he pushed his middle finger inside me, hooking it to find my sweet spot. The tingles became more intense as they spread deeper, and I looked at him with questions in my eyes. 

“You feel that?” He whispered. I nodded eagerly and his mouth curved into a sultry smile. “Don't worry it's meant to do that. You like it?” 

“Yes!” I breathed. 

“Oh baby.” He moaned, licking his lips and letting his eyes feast themselves on me. His cock twitched in my hand. “I wanna- let me- I'm gonna lift you up and you gotta wrap your legs around my head, okay?” He murmured, moving out of my grip. 

“What-” I started, confused. He shifted to a kneeling position, then he was taking my hips in his hands; I was like a bar of soap, but he somehow kept hold of me and lifted my hips. I leaned back on my elbows and allowed him to bring my lower half to his face, and as instructed I wrapped my legs around his head. He dove right in, rolling his tongue all the way up my slit before twirling it around my clit. “Holy shit!” I sighed, dropping my head back between my shoulders and moaning. My hair dangled down and I was up to my neck in the goop in this position, but it was warm and soothing and I loved the sensation of it. 

Rick groaned as he went to town on me, sucking on my clit and massaging it under the tip of his tongue, moving his attention down to sink his tongue deep inside me as his nose pressed against everything else. Oh my god. It was incredible. I found myself grinding against his face. Everything was so slippery and warm and tingly, it was perfect, I was making an absolute racket but if you can't have loud sex once in a while, what's the point? 

He supported my lower back with his hands, keeping me up without me straining anything. Usually when Rick went down on me he'd use his fingers on me too, this position didn't allow for that so he put extra effort into everything on the outside. Every now and then he’d break away to suck parts of my inner thighs. He liked to leave love bites there, marking what was his, I supposed. He'd suck on anything he could wrap his lips around down there, bringing blood to the surface and making me throb with need, the increased sensitivity from the suction sending me loopy. Paired with whatever the goo was doing to me, it was mind blowing and I was on the edge in moments.

“Oh Rick, I'm gonna cum.” I whined, my legs tightening around his head. He moaned and sucked on my clit, hard, shaking his head from side to side a little as he hummed vibrations against me. I saw stars, exploding into my climax and rutting my hips, riding his face, forgetting where I was. When I came to my senses I was quick to apologise for outright humping his face like a wild animal, but he didn't seem to mind one bit, grinning at me and speaking in a deep, gravelly tone that betrayed his intense arousal. 

“That's my good girl. You take what you need from me, baby.”

“Fuck.” I breathed, shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm as he gently lowered my hips back down. 

“Do you need a minute?” He asked. I shook my head. 

“N-no. Please. I want you now.” I told him, knowing that the feeling of his cock filling me up so soon after my climax would be divine. 

“Mmm. I love it when you cum on my face like that. You're Incredible.” He murmured, leaning over me and wrapping an arm around my back. His mouth – still wet from what felt like me rather than the contents of the bath – latched onto my neck and he marked me there too. I loved it when he peppered me in love bites, they served as pleasant reminders when we were apart. 

He entered me without further faff, filling me in a quick, smooth motion. Everything was so well lubed up it was nothing, and my body welcomed him, sparking with pleasure as he stimulated my engorged walls, spreading more of that stuff inside me that made me even more sensitive.

“Fuck. Holy shit. Y-your pussy always feels so fucking good after I ma-make you cum.” Rick stammered against my neck, his hips jerking to life like he couldn't help it, rutting into me with little finesse. I didn't mind, seeing his self control crumble like that did something for me. 

“Yeah? Shit. It's all yours, Ricky. Fuck me. F-faster.” I breathed, gripping onto him tightly though he still slid around in my arms, covered in the stuff. He groaned loudly, a sort of a release of tension, then he was pistoning his hips hard and fast, finding his rhythm. “Mm, that's it baby. I love your cock. I fucking love it. Oh god.” I growled into his ear. 

He grunted, lowering me down into the bath so his hand was free to feel me, sliding over my body through the goo. Rick loved textures, loved to feel everything under a layer of slippery stuff. I didn't know what he got from it sexually but I understood how nice it felt. He could feel me up like this until the cows came home, if it gave him a thrill it was a bonus. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” He hissed, squeezing one breast and then the other before bending down and licking me, sucking on my nipples and nibbling gently at me all over. I whimpered, arching against him to encourage him. He groaned at the flavour of the stuff coating my body, then kissed me, sharing it with me. I brought a hand to his hair, pushing my fingers through it and clutching tightly, feeling him moan into my mouth at the pull. 

Rick broke the kiss panting, grabbing more handfuls of goo and spreading it between our bodies so we slipped past each other easily, every dip and curve of our torsos gliding past and creating a wonderful tingling sensation all over, and some very strange yet satisfying sounds. It felt amazing, his smooth shaven pubic bone rubbing slickly against my clit with every push and pull of his hips. I moaned loudly, dragging my wet hand up and down his spine, reaching right down and squeezing his ass cheek, his wonderfully round, cute, ass cheek. He chuckle-moaned at this, slowing to grind against me rather than thrust. I gasped and tilted my hips, chasing more pressure. 

“I fucking love you. Y-y-your body feels so fucking good, you're perfect. Fucking perfect, baby.” He growled, pushing a hand through my hair, away from my face; it gunked up my hair but I wasn't bothered. 

He sat up, shifting to kneel between my legs. His cock slipped out of me momentarily but he grabbed hold of my hips and pulled me towards him, impaling me just as easily. He used the slipperiness of our bodies and the downward slope of his thighs to slide me back and forth on his cock. The angle was something different, but it applied a lot of pressure to my g-spot and Rick seemed to like it too. He growled indulgently and pulled me roughly, watching my tits bounce as I sploshed around in the gooey substance. An almost delirious sound escaped him and I felt dizzy with pleasure, giggling to myself as I was manhandled up and down his length.

“Cum on my cock, baby. Cum for Ricky.” He said, squeezing my breast with one hand, flicking my nipple with his finger. “I wanna see you lose it.”

“Oh fuck! Please, please-” I mewled, pleading for everything and nothing. I flung a goo-coated hand between my legs, rubbing myself in circles, fingertips brushing his cock every now and then as he fucked me. 

“That's it. Good girl. Fuck! I ca-can feel your gorgeous pussy squeezing me, holy shit.” He moaned, biting down on his bottom lip, his brow arching as my pussy clenched and throbbed. I was so close. “Your tits f-feel- fuck, your perfect tits!” 

“Y-you wanna fuck them?” I panted, teetering on the edge and unable to control the words coming out of my mouth.

“Oh baby! Fuck yeah, l-let me slip my cock between these puppies. You want me to cum between your tits like that? You want that?” He was speaking between bared teeth at this point, I knew he was close to cumming but was trying his very best to make me finish first. 

He succeeded, alright. All it took was the sudden sensation of his cock pulling out of me with an over zealous thrust to start me off, and his quick thrust back in to rectify the issue to keep me going; tumbling into my orgasm. I cried out in pleasure, my eyes squeezing shut against my will as he continued to pound me through it, grunting and growling almost uncontrollably the whole way through it. The perfect soundtrack to perpetuate the bliss. 

I opened my eyes again and made the conscious effort to unclench my teeth, panting between soft moans as he slowed his thrusts down to bring me back down to earth. He plunged forwards and kissed me, his tongue wrestling with mine eagerly. He'd stopped his movements all together and I wondered if he'd finished too, but when he pulled back and slid out of me I realised he hadn't. His cock was deep red and hard as a rock, coated in my wetness and dripping at the tip. 

“Baby, ca-can I-” He stammered, staring down at my breasts with need in his eyes and I remembered what I'd said to him before my orgasm peaked. I nodded quickly. 

“Stand- get up. Get out.” I told him, gesturing to the edge of the bath. He scrambled to do so, climbing out and standing at the edge, dripping goo all over the bath mat. I looked him in the eye as I shifted onto my knees and turned to face him. I smeared more of the stuff up my front, over my breasts, and he watched with slightly widened eyes, his cock twitching. 

“Fuck, look at you.” He murmured, grabbing his cock and jerking it. I licked my lips and squeezed my breasts together, leaning close to the edge of the bath, offering myself to him. He moaned quietly, bending his knees and coming closer, sliding his cock between my dripping wet breasts. “Shit. Fuck. Oh Jesus Christ.” He hissed, biting down hard on his bottom lip. 

“You're so hard, you ready to cum all over me, Ricky?” I asked sweetly, peering up at him, waving my hips from side to side subtly as I held my tits together, squeezing his cock between them as he began to thrust, fucking my cleavage. He hummed and nodded his affirmation. “Yeah? Let me see it baby.” I added, looking down and watching the head of his cock emerge from between my breasts with each thrust of his hips. 

“Oh god you look so good! C-covered in all this stuff, fucking glistening like that. Shit. I'm gonna cum. You ready to take it, baby? You ready for my- my-” He didn't finish that sentence, he cut himself off with a lengthy groan. His hips jerked without rhythm for one or two thrusts, and then he was cumming, shooting all over my breasts and up to my neck and chin. I groaned along with him as he climaxed, licking away the cum that reached my chin.

He continued fucking my breasts until his oversensitive cock couldn't take anymore, then he stumbled back away from me, wobbly on his legs. His cock dripped residual drops of cum onto the floor, but the bath mat needed a wash anyway after our little session. I sat back down in the bath on my butt, rubbing my hand through the mess on my chest with a pleased sigh. Being so messy never felt so good! 

“Sweetheart.” Rick said, capturing my attention. When I looked at him he bent down, cupping my head in his hands and kissing me. Long, slow, tender. I arched my back to reach him better, wrapping my arms around him. When he pulled back he admired the look of me, so messy and sitting in a tub of slime and plenty of bodily fluids at this point. He licked his lips and ran his hands over my body some more. “We really need a shower but part of me wants to keep you here forever, just looking like this.” He whispered. 

“Is there a way to heat this stuff back up? Cause I'd stay here just fine. But it's going cold.” I chuckled. He kissed the shell of my ear a number of times then straightened up, holding his hands out to me. 

“Up you get, gorgeous. Before you dissolve along with all the goo.” He smirked. 

He helped me out of the tub and immediately into the shower. We stayed in there for ages, helping each other get clean with a soapy loofah. It would've been a ten minute job if we weren't making out the entire time, but what's the fun in not making out when that's an option? The water bill would be through the roof, but it'd be worth every penny. Besides, we had time to kill before we could drain the tub, so why not make the most of it?


	18. Charlie Foxtrot: 1/7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic involving Tailor Rick and one of the SEAL team Ricks; the bald one with the beard. It contains sex, but it’s not wildly descriptive like my usual smut, the focus is more on how their relationship changes over time, and it's quite angsty. This is my baby, it's perhaps my favourite fic I've ever written and will be 7 parts long. Enjoy!

Queuing up at a coffee shop was not something Tailor did often. His assistant would normally do it for him, though she was spending a weekend with her boyfriend. This had already put him in a bad mood, but to make matters worse the coffee shop just happened to be at the Citadel, of all places. Though Tailor usually vowed never to consume anything produced at the Citadel, he was sure he would die without a coffee, and so there he was, standing with arms crossed as he waited to be served.

The hipster looking Rick working behind the counter finally turned to serve him. He wore his hair in a man-bun and had a rather impressive beard, and under the apron he was wearing Tailor could see one heck of a garishly patterned shirt. The barista stared at him for a moment expectantly, and Tailor tutted when he didn't get the polite greeting he had been waiting for. 

“Good afternoon,” he said with a bite to his tone. “One black coffee please. W-with two shots of espresso and three sugars. Please.”

“Sugar's over there, you help yourself. What's your dimension code?” the barista replied, his expression not changing once. Tailor told him then the barista held his hand out to him. “Fifteen schmeckles.” 

Tailor narrowed his eyes but handed him the money anyway. He was then ushered over to the side where other Ricks were waiting for their orders. Tailor put some distance between him and the others, not wanting to make eye contact and get stuck talking to one of them, heaven forbid. Not that Ricks were the most conversational of people, but there was a smiley looking guy with a lazy eye and a bowl cut looking his way and Tailor did _not_ want to encourage him. He stood there with his eyes planted firmly on the Rick behind the counter preparing drinks. He liked to keep an eye on the people preparing his food, when given the chance. 

It was a couple of minutes before he finally got his order and he marched over and took it from the barista. He shuffled over to where the sugar and napkins were and set to work stirring in three sachets of sugar one by one. He stared down into it and sighed as he watched the sugar dissolve. It'd been a long morning and he had been running on one cup of coffee. That was not good. He'd been at the Council of Ricks’ offices to discuss new robes. He'd been desperate to redesign their uniforms for years and was finally given the opportunity. It was bittersweet, however, the head of the Council, Riq IV, could be a bit of a dick and Tailor couldn't quite work out if they'd get along or not. 

Tailor picked up his drink and turned around as he started closing the lid on it. He didn't even notice the body that was standing directly behind him, and walked straight into it. His instinct was to apologise and move on, he wasn't one for confrontation. That was until he registered the heat spreading across his chest, which he soon realised was his coffee. His fresh, black coffee. Black coffee. On his suit. His white shirt. His baby pink suit jacket. Baby pink. Black coffee. _His jacket... Thousands of pounds worth of jacket... Black coffee._

“What on _earth_ are you doing, you bloody idiot!? Don't you see me standing here? Why are you standing so fucking close? Get the fuck away from me, haven't you ever heard of personal space?! Look at me! Look at my fucking suit! _Do you have any idea how much this costs you thick skulled, absolute bloody wanker!?_ ” Words just erupted from him without control. He could sense everyone around him staring but all he could focus on was the dark stain all over his front. He was livid. It was beginning to hurt, the heat from the coffee, but he didn't care. 

“Uhh–” the other Rick started.

“Look! Th-tha-that's never going to come out! I hope you have your fucking wallet with you because otherwise we're going to–” Tailor finally looked up at the man he was yelling at, and stalled. “We're going to- um, you'll- we'll have…” he mumbled, his eyes glazing over as he took in the solid wall of muscle at eye level, the dog tags hanging around his neck, then the stern expression of the bald headed Rick he'd just lost his shit at. He seemed to be a military Rick. Of course, who else would Tailor have just called a thick skulled, absolute bloody wanker? 

The Rick quirked a brow at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. Tailor cleared his throat, turned and tossed the remainder of his coffee in the bin behind him, and then arranged his face into a more composed expression. 

“It doesn't matter,” he said, his voice smaller than before. He forced the next words from his lips despite it going against every fiber of his being. “It's just a suit.”

The bald, ripped Rick gave Tailor an odd look, sizing him up and analysing him. He had a large yet well groomed beard – no moustache – and numerous piercings. There was a plug stretching each earlobe and a stud above his top lip; Tailor would've turned his nose up if he wasn't worried about pissing him off any more. He squirmed under the attention, wanting nothing else but to run away from the situation and hightail it back home. That wasn't going to happen, it seemed. The Rick wasn't moving out of his way.

Feeling a need to fill the silence, Tailor spoke. “I apologise for my language. I didn't mean to cause offense.” 

The other Rick frowned for a few moments, and Tailor felt his pulse pounding in his skull, almost giving him a headache. Suddenly, however, Rick smiled, then chuckled. 

“I've heard worse, and from more intimidating folk, too,” he finally spoke, his voice not at all like Tailor had expected. He had a southern drawl, softer around the edges than he'd come to expect from most Ricks. It was still deep and a little gravelly, but he sounded… friendly? Friendly and extremely kind on the ears. “I'm sorry about th-that suit of yours. What d’ I owe you?” 

He was reaching into his pocket for his wallet, and Tailor could do no more than stare. He was half expecting a swift punch to the face considering how he'd yelled at him just moments ago, and he was just stunned he still had all his teeth. He was also stunned at how opening his mouth had made him about twice as attractive. 

“Um, that's quite alright. N-not to worry. I know a lady who- maybe she can get the stain out.”

“I don't know, black coffee sure is a son of a bitch,” Rick frowned, looking down at the stain on Tailor's shirt. 

He didn't seem to mind about the splatter up his own front, but he was just wearing an off white wife beater. One that showed off just how thick his arms were, how toned his muscles were. He saw the edges of tattoos peeking out from over his shoulders; they must've covered his back. Tailor swallowed hard and averted his eyes. 

“I don't want your money. It's fine,” he murmured, adjusting his tie, as if that was going to do something to make him look better. 

“At least let me take you back to mine, get you out of that suit.”

“I'm sorry?” Tailor balked, his face immediately heating up, his eyes watering at the sudden pressure of the blood rushing to his head. 

Rick smirked, clearly amused.

“I've got some detergent back at my place, su-supposed to be real good. If we get that shirt and jacket washed fast we might be able to save it.” 

“Oh! Oh right. Of course. Yes, that's probably for the best.” Tailor nodded, instantly regretting his reply. He'd been so relieved to have his lewd misunderstanding cleared up that he hadn't really been concentrating on his own response. But there was no going back now. 

“It's just up the street from here. Two minute walk!” Rick smiled, a lopsided kind of smile that was incredibly endearing. Tailor winced. 

“Actually, I–” his sentence fell short and he sighed. Rick had already turned and was heading for the door, Tailor had no choice but to just follow. 

Rick's home really was just a short walk away in an apartment block. It was pretty average, Tailor thought, and he noticed quickly that the place was lived in. It wasn't a complete pigsty, but it was far from neat and tidy. Tailor started to wonder what he was getting himself into, but he found himself just rolling with it. He agreed when Rick offered to make him a cup of coffee, he wasn't a huge fan of that instant stuff but he wouldn't complain, he still needed some. He took a seat at the kitchen table as he waited, brushing away a collection of crumbs from in front of him. 

“You wanna take off that shirt and jacket? I can- I'll toss it in the wash.” 

“Oh, yes, b-but it must be a gentle cycle,” Tailor warned, slipping off his jacket. He cleared the pockets of their items, leaving them on the table.

“Gentle?” 

“Yes. Perhaps you have a delicates setting?” Tailor questioned, handing the jacket off to him. He was looking back at him with a blank expression and Tailor held back a sigh. “Don't worry. Whatever you usually put it on will be fine, I suppose.”

“You wanna borrow a shirt or something?” Rick asked, looking down at Tailor's shirt again. 

Tailor hadn't really thought about taking his shirt off in front of this guy until now, and he was suddenly very nervous. Why on earth had he accepted this damn invitation? 

“Um… yes. I suppose I should. Thank you,” he finally replied after a pause that was far too long. 

Rick nodded and left the room for a while. Tailor groaned quietly, brushing his hand backwards through his hair to tame non existent flyaways, then he loosened his floral tie. He unbuttoned his shirt and was shrugging it off just as Rick returned. 

“I tried to find somethin’ that might be to your taste,” he said, holding out a button up shirt to him.

The thing was creased up to hell. It looked like it'd been sat at the bottom of a drawer for God knows how long, but Tailor appreciated the effort. He swapped with him, and dressed in the borrowed shirt. It swamped him, given Rick was a lot more _bulky_ than Tailor, and he found himself heating up in the face again. 

He felt like some chick dressing up in her boyfriend's dress shirts. He'd never worn anything so ill fitting. 

After starting up the washing machine, Rick placed a cup of coffee down in front of Tailor as he finished up buttoning his shirt; he left the top few buttons open, his own tie hanging loose around his neck. It smelled musky and faintly of cigarettes, it didn't seem to have been worn for a while, and Tailor wondered if it’d even been washed since the last time Rick had worn it. Oddly enough, the thought stirred something in him and he crossed one leg over the other, clearing his throat as he took a sip of his drink to distract himself. He burned his tongue, but didn't react. 

“How's the coffee?” Rick asked him, looking at the spot where Tailor was resting the mug against his lip, blowing into it to help cool it. 

“It’s fine, thank you. Coffee's coffee,” he said. “It's perhaps the one thing I'm not particularly picky about.” 

“Huh? Is that so?” he replied, and Tailor caught the beginnings of a smirk as he lifted his own cup. 

Tailor raised a brow, ready to question him, but decided to change the subject. 

“You're in the military,” he stated. He'd noticed a few things laying around the apartment, photographs of him in uniform, with other Ricks in matching clothes. The dog tags around his neck were a giveaway too. 

“SEAL team.” Rick replied. There was nothing arrogant about the way he said it, Tailor was surprised at how matter-of-fact he was.

“Well, then I feel as though I owe you an apology,” Tailor forced himself to say, lifting his head, holding his chin high. 

Rick frowned. “What for?” 

“For lashing out at you, calling you a thick skulled wanker, and so on.”

“You already apologised for that,” Rick pointed out, cupping his hands around the mug of coffee. 

“Yes, well, I wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings.”

“Sir, I invited you into my home, washed your clothes and gave you some of my coffee. Does it look like there's hard feelings? Don't worry about it. Water off a duck’s back.”

“I meant no disrespect, if I'd have known who you were I'd never have dreamed about speaking to you in such a way,” Tailor admitted, avoiding eye contact. His face felt awfully hot. 

“B-but if I was just some other Rick, some barista or store assistant, you'd have stood by it all?” Rick snorted, cocking a brow and smirking. 

“Of course,” Tailor said, taking a sip of coffee. Rick chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Fair enough. So what do you do with yourself? You look pretty fancy in that suit, must be doing well.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the washing machine. 

“That suit is one of mine. I mean, I made it. I-I-I'm a tailor, a dressmaker, a designer.” 

“Oh! I ain't seen you around the Citadel before.” 

“That's because I don't work here. I was just meeting with the Council today, I'm working on some designs for them,” Tailor said nonchalantly, not even noticing the way the other Rick's eyes widened. 

“You work for the damn Council? Holy shit, you are doing well.” 

“The Council? I suppose it's a pretty high profile job. Though, I've worked for royalty back in my home dimension, so it's rather a step down.” 

“You design the crown jewels or something?” Rick snorted. “I've never really heard of a British Rick. I know they're out there but you're the first I've met.” 

“And you're the first Rick I've met with that lovely southern drawl,” Tailor replied, his tone lowering into a flirtatious one unintentionally. The other Rick blinked at him, his expression unchanging. Tailor quickly moved on, dropping his gaze to the mug. “I've made multiple dresses for her majesty the Queen, wonderful lady, absolute pleasure to work for. I've worked on suits for Prince Harry and William. Their wives have both worn dresses by me. Actually, I've been told to expect a call about a special commission for the Duchess of Cambridge.”

“Wow. You're a real hot shot, huh?” 

“Well, I've worked hard to make a name for myself.” 

“I believe that,” Rick nodded, his gaze lingering on Tailor for a few moments before he looked away. The two fell into silence for a while as they drank their coffee.


	19. Charlie Foxtrot: 2/7

Tailor began to worry, twisting the ring on his middle finger round and round as he wondered what on earth they were going to talk about for the entire afternoon. His jacket and shirt were whizzing around in the washing machine, trapping him, and the hum of it was the only sound in the room. He felt awkward, sensing the other Rick's eyes on him. Silence never usually bothered him when it was on his terms; but being trapped with a total stranger, an attractive stranger at that, with nothing to talk about was beginning to make him feel anxious. 

“You're married?” Rick suddenly asked out of the blue, gesturing to the ring that Tailor was fiddling with. “Still with your Diane? That's interesting. I-I-I know a couple other guys who had a Diane, my roommate did. None of 'em are still shacked up, though.” 

Tailor couldn't control his facial muscles suddenly, and he felt his expression crumple into something ugly and uncomfortable. Rick made a sound of realisation, and Tailor looked up in time to capture the exact moment it happened. He could practically see him having a flashback to the pink suit and he didn't miss the way his eyes dropped to his floral tie, then down to his manicured hands where they surrounded his coffee mug. Tailor consciously folded in his extended pinky fingers, then his eyes were met by Rick's again. And there they were, the subtly raised brows of a slightly guilty, politely surprised stranger who had just made an assumption. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume anything. Maybe it's not a Diane, that's cool. Ma-maybe it's a… a Daniel, or- or something. There's plenty of Ricks I know who're like that. Ain't nothing wrong with-”

”I’m not gay. And I'm not married; wrong finger.” Tailor lifted his hand and flipped him the bird; to show him the ring was on his middle finger, of course. “I was, and to a Diane, but I'm not anymore.” 

“Shit, my mistake. My apologies, sir,” Rick told him, shaking his head. 

Tailor had to admit he was getting a kick from being called sir. It continued to stir the pot of building attraction and hell, arousal, stewing deep in his gut.

“Oh, don't worry. You wouldn't be the first to assume such a thing, far from it. And I can't pretend I don't see why.” Tailor laughed, though there wasn't a lot of humour in it. 

“People sure can be ignorant.” 

“I once knew a Rick who would call me terrible names whenever we saw each other. No matter how many times I told him to stop he would still call me faggot, every single time. One day he questioned how on earth I'd ever managed to land a wife, surely women could see how much I loved taking it up the arse, and so on.” 

“Why didn't you kick his ass? I know I would've.”

“Well, the truth is he was far too good at giving head when his mouth wasn't yapping,” Tailor said, a wry little smile lifting the corners of his mouth. 

Rick looked at him for a moment, frowning in confusion. The penny seemed to drop and his eyes widened, it was like he wanted to laugh, but wasn't sure if it was okay to do so. Tailor flashed him a smirk, and he chuckled, though he sounded a little nervous. Tailor had obviously confused the poor guy. 

“I'm not gay,” Tailor reiterated, lifting his mug and taking a sip. “But you don't need to be gay to like _taking it up the arse_ , as my lover put it.”

“Huh,” Rick grunted, his eyes dropping to the table. He chewed on the inside of his mouth for a while, like he was deep in thought. “I'm not sure if I see the appeal. I mean, giving it, sure. But taking it?”

“Don't knock it till you've tried it,” Tailor snorted. He noticed the way Rick was staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for something. He felt a rush of something go through him, it wasn't until it hit his cock that he realised it was arousal. “Don't look at me, I don't- well, I'm not a huge fan of topping. So if you'd like to try-”

“Oh hell no! Th-tha-that's not what I- why do you think I'd be thinking that? Exit only! I don't wanna try- no! I'm a giver all the way,” Rick stammered, his face going deep, deep red and his hands closing into fists. His eyes widened just a little at the implications of what he'd said. “Women! I give it to women.” 

Tailor said nothing, he just drank his coffee.

“I'm serious! Wh-why aren't you saying anything?”

“What's there to say? I'm not about to sit here and try to convince you to try something you're not interested in,” Tailor said nonchalantly. “But I can't help but wonder…” 

“Wonder what?” 

“Well, you said yourself you're a giver. I'm a taker… isn't that convenient?” Tailor smiled, deeply amused by the look on Rick's face. 

“You'd better not be propositioning me, sir. I'm in the SEAL team.” 

Now that took Tailor aback. He frowned. Why on earth would he mention that? He knew he was in the SEAL team, what did that have to do with anything?

“No. I'm teasing you, of course. You're not my type anyway,” Tailor said after a few moments of silence. He'd rather not push it. 

“Why? What's wrong with me?” He asked defensively. Tailor narrowed his eyes and shook his head in bewilderment. 

“Christ, are you interested in me or not? You're sending mixed signals, here.” 

“I am not. Ignore that question,” Rick sighed, shaking his head. “Maybe I should send your suit to you when it's done, w-we’ve got that interdimensional postal service now s-so there's no reason you have to stick around here.” 

“What? I'd rather not trust any postal service run by the Citadel with that jacket, thank you.” 

“Well then I'll bring it to you personally.” 

Tailor stared with wide eyes. He must've seriously crossed a line… 

“Look, forget everything I said. I've clearly made you uncomfortable, I take it all back.”

“I'm not uncomfortable.” 

“You're kicking me out. You're uncomfortable, it's fine. I'll… I'll be quiet and just wait for my jacket.”

“My roommate will be back soon and I don't want–” Rick stopped suddenly, sighing and scratching at his head. “You're sat there wearing my shirt, I mean, it- it looks…”

Tailor looked down at himself in the oversized shirt. He kept his expression in check when he realised what was bothering him.

“You're worried they'll think something funny's going on,” he pointed out. The lack of response confirmed it and Tailor sighed. “Well I haven't touched you, have I? You'll just have to explain what happened. Relax, will you?”

“I can't have them thinking that stuff about me.” 

“Why would they? Just because there's a well spoken, impeccably groomed gentleman sat wearing your shirt, doesn't mean they'll automatically jump to conclusions,” Tailor shrugged. 

Rick stared at him with an incredulous look on his face. He wasn't an idiot, Tailor knew exactly how it looked. He was just having a hard time dealing with the fact that it'd be such a bad thing. So what if they had fucked? Tailor was one of the better looking Ricks out there, he took care of himself, he was rich and successful and anyone would be lucky to get even a second glance from him, as far as he was concerned. 

So this guy acting like it'd be a travesty if someone so much as suspected them, was rubbing him up the wrong way. 

“Don't be so bloody fragile,” Tailor muttered, crossing his arms and lifting his chin in annoyance. “What makes you think they'd assume _I_ would have sex with _you_? No offence, but you're no oil painting. I meant it when I said you weren't my type.”

“You've been hittin’ on me since the moment you got me alone, I'm not blind!” Rick hissed, jabbing a finger at him. Tailor cocked a brow and scoffed. 

“You're flattering yourself.”

“I ain't. You know exactly what you were doing.” 

“You're the one who invited me over to your place, alone, then immediately got me to take my clothes off. If anyone's being hit on–”

“I'm not! Don't be twisting shit like that, I was doing you a favour,” Rick stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “You think you're something real damn special, don't you? You think ‘cause one person gives you the time of day they must- must- ugh. What do you get out of it, huh? Coming in here and messing with my head, trying to confuse me and make me question everything I–”

“I'm not making you do anything. If you're questioning things then I'm afraid that's all you,” Tailor interrupted, growing bored of the conversation. 

Rick's eyes were wide and conveyed badly hidden worry, Tailor just stared right back at him and waited for some kind of response. Eventually, Rick sighed loudly and dropped back down into his seat. 

“I've never spoken to another man so openly about this stuff. Being in the SEAL team it ain't exactly celebrated, being…” he trailed off and shook his head. “I don't mean nothing by all this, I just don't want something slipping out and making things difficult for me.” 

“Listen, if you're about to come out to me, I have to say I am not equipped to deal with this. All I wanted was a cup of coffee.” 

“I ain't,” he hissed. “I like women. I've never been so sure of anything. It's… it's the other stuff I'm not so sure about.” 

“Other stuff?” Tailor questioned. 

“I shouldn't have to spell it out. You know exactly what I'm saying,” Rick grumbled. His cheeks were pink and Tailor could see his breath coming quicker than normal. 

“Well, there are ways of working it out,” Tailor said, drumming his nails on the table a number of times. “You have a willing guinea pig.” 

Rick's face was a picture. He looked surprised, scared, curious and excited all at the same time. But the excitement took a beating and was quickly replaced by annoyance. 

“I'm not about to get taken advantage of by some pervert.”

“Fine, if that's how you choose to look at it. But the offer is there,” Tailor shrugged, finishing off his coffee. “May I use the restroom?” 

“It's down the hallway.” 

Rick jerked his head in the right direction and Tailor got up. 

Rick's heart was pounding. He had never, ever, been so open with someone like this. None of his fellow SEAL team members would ever sit and listen to this, and he'd never consider even trying to discuss it with them. That would be like putting his dick in a guillotine. He was sat here with an almost complete stranger, he wasn't sure what had possessed him to open up like he had. Maybe all of the bottling up he'd done over the years was finally at it's breaking point. He wanted something, he didn't know what, but when he heard the toilet flush down the hallway, signalling Tailor's return, he'd made his decision then and there. 

Tailor made his way back, coming up behind the other Rick only to be stopped as he passed. A hand closed around his wrist, halting him and making his heart jump in surprise. He looked down at Rick who had his eyes dead set on something in front of him. 

“Do something,” he said. Tailor frowned, replaying the two words in his mind for a while before responding. 

“Do what?” he questioned. 

Rick sighed. 

“Just do something, anything. Guinea pig, right?” Rick replied and Tailor's eyes widened. 

He was expecting to be taken up on the offer, for sure, but not this soon. The hand around his wrist loosened then let go completely. Tailor licked his lips and glanced around the room a little nervously, perhaps expecting this to be a trick. 

When he'd relaxed enough, he slid his hand up the bare arm of the other Rick, his fingertips sliding over the contours of the muscle there, right the way up to his shoulder. Then he moved it to the back of the chair, pulling it, moving it about an inch before Rick got the message and scooted it backwards and around to face him. Tailor stepped into the space created by his parted legs and brought both hands to Rick's shoulders. He massaged them a little, though they didn't relax at all, then he brought his hand to his cheek, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone. Rick finally made eye contact, holding it with a little nervous wince. Tailor didn't give him time to bow out, quickly swooping down to connect their lips in a short kiss. Rick stiffened in his chair, his lips not responding until Tailor pulled back; then there was a split second pause and Tailor was the one being kissed.

Surprised, he kissed back, his hand grabbing onto the wifebeater Rick was wearing. His chin was tickled by Rick's surprisingly soft facial hair and while he wasn't usually a fan of beards, he didn't hate it. He felt hands at his waist, holding on tightly as a sound escaped from the other man. A relieved one, pleased and indulgent. Tailor felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening quickly after finally getting something from this guy; he wanted him more than he initially thought. He shifted on his feet, moving so he was straddling Rick's legs, he lowered himself down so he was sitting on his lap. The kiss was broken for a few seconds and Rick was panting, his eyes comically wide. Tailor kissed him again, probing with his tongue this time, surprised when he was granted entrance. He slid his hand down his chest as they made out, dipping lower until it ended up between Rick's legs. He was getting hard too, and they shared a moan as he squeezed his bulge. 

There was a sudden clunking sound, and before he knew what was happening Tailor was on the floor with a sore ass and skull. His head had bounced off the cupboard door when he'd fallen. Had the chair broken? No. He'd just been shoved off. 

“Ow, fuck! What's wrong with you?” Tailor hissed, Rick was up and out of his seat, striding towards the hallway to the front door. He was obviously pleased with what he saw because he sighed in relief and made his way to the table, leaning over and bracing his hands against its surface as he caught his breath. A high pitched beep could be heard. 

“It's okay, it was just the washing machine. Y-your suit’s ready to go into the dryer.” 

“Fuck that. I'll take it home now, which I should've done in the bloody first place.” 

Tailor pushed himself to his feet and stormed over to the washing machine, yanking the door open. He collected his damp clothes then went back over to the table where his wallet and portal gun were sat. 

“Hold on, you're leaving?” Rick panicked, looking up at Tailor abruptly. 

“Of course I am, I don't take kindly to being thrown onto the floor!” he snapped, rubbing the back of his head. He could feel bruises forming both there and on his backside.

“Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that, I just panicked. I thought someone was coming through the door!” 

“It doesn't matter anyway. You seem to have gotten your answer.” 

Tailor looked pointedly at the tent in Rick's pants before shoving his wallet in his back pocket and firing his portal gun at the fridge door. 

“Hold on a second, we can go to my room, there's a lock on the door!” 

Rick made his way around the table, trying to block the portal, but Tailor made it there first. 

“How very tempting… no thank you,” he scoffed, then stepped through the portal as he called out, “thanks for the coffee.” 

“Fuck!” Rick growled, dragging his hands over his face. With a sigh he slumped back down into the chair Tailor had been sitting on. He groaned in frustration, his cock throbbing in his pants, the adrenaline doing nothing to make it go away. When he pulled his hands away from his eyes, he immediately noticed that Tailor had left something. 

A business card; complete with a dimension code and an address.


	20. Charlie Foxtrot: 3/7

Tailor had been working in his studio all day, well, all week actually. The Council of Ricks’ new robes were taking up a lot of his time, but he was taking a break from that. Instead he was spending the evening working on a new suit for himself. A lavender three piece; he'd found a wonderful floral fabric for the waistcoat and he wanted it finished in time for his next meeting. There was a certain curly haired Council member he had his eye on, and he was eager to impress. 

He'd all but forgotten about his coffee shop mishap, would've done completely if it weren't for the oversized shirt hanging up on one of the many clothes racks he had in the studio. He glanced over at it; he'd washed and ironed it and it was looking very neat and tidy where it hung, but he didn't know what to do with it. Sure, he could return it, but why should he go to the effort after everything that had happened? No. Tailor was a busy man. But he couldn't bring himself to throw it away, so it just stayed there taking up a coat hanger. He figured he'd hold onto it for a little while, until he decided what would be the best thing to do with it.

It was quite possible that Rick would seek him out. It shouldn't be too hard, he knew he was working for the Council and being in the SEAL team would surely offer some connections. He could figure out where Tailor was and collect it himself. Which is exactly what Tailor thought was happening when there was a knock at the door late in the evening, and he opened the door to see Rick standing there. He was wearing a leather jacket over the top of a tight olive green t-shirt, and a pair of sandy coloured utility pants. 

Tailor wanted to punch himself for immediately feeling the seeds of arousal blossoming inside him. 

“Oh, it's you,” he said all too casually. “I suppose you're after your shirt. Come in.” 

Tailor spun around and walked back inside, leaving Rick to deal with the door and follow. 

“My shirt? Oh! Oh right, yeah, I forgot about that. Actually I was hoping we could talk. Is there anyone here?” Rick glanced around the room at all the textiles equipment; sewing machines, dressmaker's mannequins, multiple large tables with oddly shaped pieces of fabric cut out that must make a suit somehow.

“No, it's just me. Well then, I suppose you're here to buy my silence. Not to worry, you have my word, what happened that day stays between you and I.” 

Tailor sat back down at the desk he had been working at, and continued hand stitching the hem of his new waistcoat. “I don't kiss and tell.” He teased. 

“No, that's not it. Though, I would appreciate it if we kept it quiet,” he chuckled nervously, taking a seat on a wheely stool opposite Tailor.

“Ah, spent all your money bribing the council for my dimension and address?” Tailor questioned, not looking up from his needle and thread. 

“Actually, you left your business card at my place.” 

Tailor pricked his finger in surprise. How could he have been so careless? He sighed and sucked the drop of blood that beaded from the tip of his finger. 

“Did I? I should be more careful in future.”

“I'm sorry to call in late. I was gonna wait outside until you came out, done for the day, but it kept getting later and in the end I just…” Rick trailed off with a shrug. 

“Ah, so you've been watching the building for a number of hours? That's not creepy at all. I'm glad the neighborhood watch is so attentive.”

“I was discreet,” Rick assured him and Tailor rolled his eyes.

“So if you're not here to buy my silence, perhaps a death threat is more your tactic?” Tailor mused monotonously and Rick sighed. 

“Nothing like that. I'm here because I wanna finish what we started,” Rick said, startling Tailor into pricking his finger again. He gave up with trying to sew after that. 

“Oh, how forward.”

“My head's been all over the place this week. I haven't been able to stop– I just need to get whatever this is out of my system.”

“Futile, but okay.” 

“Futile?”

“There's no getting it out of your system. It's there. It's you. The sooner you accept it the sooner you can get on with your life, and hopefully quit bothering me.” 

“Whatever. I'm just saying, I-I-I gotta do something about it.”

“Alright, but I'm not sleeping with you. You made my ass sore enough the last time we met.” Tailor narrowed his eyes and pushed his work out of the way, clearing a space on the desk in front of him. 

“I'm sorry about that,” Rick mumbled, rising to his feet as soon as Tailor gestured for him to go to him. “Maybe I can make it better?” he tried, his tone lilting into nervous flirtation. 

Tailor tried to hide his amusement. 

“Or maybe you can hop up onto this desk for me?” Tailor said, and Rick did exactly what he was told. 

He could feel his cock swelling at how well he followed instructions, and was looking forward to having some fun with him. Tailor stood up too, standing between Rick's legs and going onto his tiptoes so he could kiss him. 

Rick was a lot more relaxed this time around, obviously without the threat of being walked in on by one of his military friends. He opened up his mouth for him and Tailor took advantage, dancing his tongue against the tip of Rick's. The two of them moaned softly, and Rick's hands made their way to Tailor's body, sliding up the sides of his arms, around his back, up to his neck. He played with the ends of Tailor's hair. Though he'd usually put someone who tried to touch his hair in their place, for Rick, Tailor allowed it. 

Maybe that was his first mistake. 

From the squeak of a zipper to the rustling of fabric, it wasn't long before Tailor was sat back down in his chair, his mouth around Rick's cock. He brought it to full hardness, feeling it twitch and grow against his tongue. God, he loved that feeling. Rick moaned, unbridled, wearing his emotions in his voice for Tailor's attentive ears. Bobbing up and down his length, Tailor quickly learned what he liked. Fast and shallow, lots of attention on the head, Tailor thought he needn't bother trying to deep throat when it was twisting and pumping his lips around the head of his cock that had Rick crying out, legs shaking. 

The hands in his hair didn't let up, squeezing tightly. Tailor felt his patience wearing thin, was about three seconds away from wrenching them out of his hair, but Rick came. He didn't warn him – rude – and Tailor had little choice but to swallow. When the hands finally loosened, Tailor pulled off, wiping the spit from his lips with the back of his hand, and he looked up at the other man. He looked as if he was on a different planet, shiny from a layer of perspiration, some dampening the front of his t-shirt. He hadn't taken that leather jacket off the entire time, and now that he didn't have his face in his crotch, Tailor could smell the cigarettes he must smoke lingering on it. That, and ripe sweat. It had all the hallmarks of a jacket that'd never been cleaned.

What on earth had he seen in him? 

 

-

 

Any hopes of the whole ordeal being over and done with were dashed when Rick turned up at Tailor's studio for a second time. He was in his leather jacket again, and this time he wanted something more. Tailor had foolishly let him sweep him away, and they were making out on the sofa by the large factory style windows that looked out over the Thames. Tailor would be surprised that Rick didn't have a problem with that if all the blood in his body wasn't in his cock. He blamed it on that damn jacket, the smell of it, of him, pheromones… or something. 

“Let me try it.” 

“Still not out of your system?” Tailor snorted. 

“I don't think it will be until I do the whole thing properly,” Rick replied, shifting so he was kneeling on the sofa.

His pants were undone, allowing his erection to peek through the fly, tenting his boxers. Yeah, Tailor had been copping a feel, but Rick's hands hadn't exactly kept to themselves either judging by the fact somewhere along the way his suit jacket had disappeared, and so had his waistcoat. They weren't on the sofa. And if they weren't on the sofa that meant they were on the floor. Tailor sat up abruptly and glanced around for them but Rick grabbed his shoulders and planted another kiss on him; on his neck. Tailor groaned and leaned back into the cushions. Screw the jacket. 

“I don't have any lube here,” Tailor found himself saying, as if that was the reason he wasn't intending on fucking him. 

“I've brought some.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Tailor muttered. “You haven't touched my cock once and you expect me to put out? What do you take me for?”

Rick pulled back and looked at him with a slightly startled expression. He glanced down at Tailor's crotch, his cock was rock hard and pressing up against the fly of his pants almost painfully. He could see Rick swallow, then there was a hand between his legs, squeezing and rubbing and turning him into an embarrassing, groaning heap on the sofa below him. 

“Is that nice?” Rick asked quietly, leaning close and watching Tailor's expressions.

“Take it out,” he breathed, closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of the hands on him.

Clumsily, Rick unzipped Tailor's pants and shuffled them down enough to free his cock. As soon as his eyes settled on it, it was like every drop of confidence left him and he stalled completely. He sat back against the sofa, uncertainty leaking into his once eager expression. 

“Oh, Christ, what's wrong now? Is there something wrong with my cock?” 

“Other than it being a cock? No.”

“What, did you expect me to have a pussy?” Tailor snorted.

“Sorry, I just never touched one that ain't my own,” he murmured. 

Tailor reached for his own cock, stroking it a number of times while Rick watched, hoping to warm him up to the idea. 

“It's not much different to touching your own,” he assured him, gripping his shaft with one hand while he rubbed the tip with the palm of his other hand. 

“Why don't you give me your hand?” he asked, softening his voice to something he hoped was comforting. He had to remind himself that this was all new to him. His voice sounded like someone else's even to himself, so uncharacteristically kind.

Perhaps that was his second mistake. 

Rick extended his hand, and Tailor took it and guided it to his cock, wrapping it around himself and using it to stroke. Together their hands jerked him slowly, Tailor gradually increased the pace and when it suited him just right, he let go, leaving Rick to do the work. His pace faltered for a second once he was on his own, but he quickly regained his rhythm. Tailor was panting embarrassingly loud, moaning at every experimental twist of his wrist; Rick was getting the hang of it all too quickly. 

“Oh God, that's nice,” Rick said, leaning over Tailor, shuffling closer. “You look so good with me doing this to you. I wanna make you cum.” 

“Then don't stop,” Tailor said through clenched teeth, then balled his fist in the front of Rick's shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. He could hear his own sounds becoming needy, higher pitched, God he hated himself when he got like that, but it was involuntary. “Fuck, that's good! D-d-don't stop,” he repeated, breaking the kiss and breathing heavily. 

“I ain't gonna stop,” Rick chuckled, nipping at Tailor's ear. 

“I'm gonna cum,” he breathed, his hips rising off the sofa, pushing into the hand around his cock. 

“Yes!” Rick hissed, licking his lips and looking down to watch the show. “Fuck, do it. I wanna see.” 

Tailor came in spurts over Rick's hand, he got some on his shirt and would grumble about it later, but in the moment all he could do was groan and rut his hips into Rick's willing hand, drawing out his orgasm as he pictured fucking a variety of bodies. A rolodex of sordid images flitting through his head until he was collapsing back down onto the sofa, spent.

To Tailor's surprise, Rick didn't push for anything else for the remainder of his stay. He seemed content to sit and sloppily make out, his cock sitting hard and neglected in his pants until Tailor decided he'd had enough and sent him packing. He left without complaint.


	21. Charlie Foxtrot: 4/7

It was Tailor that initiated their next meeting. Third mistake? 

After a meeting with the Council that'd taken up way too much of his time and patience, he was annoyed and tense and was looking for something, anything to relieve that. That's how he found himself face down, ass up on Rick's bed. He'd been lucky enough to catch him when he was home alone, his roommate (another SEAL team Rick) had gone out to a bar, and apparently a certain barlady would likely keep him occupied for the night. 

Rick had still locked the bedroom door, of course. The bedsheets certainly smelled lived in, and tailor turned his head to the side for a more pleasant breathing experience while Rick kneeled behind him, rubbing his hard-on against his ass. They were both still fully clothed, but had organically made their way into this position. 

“You've caught me in the right mood. Do you have that lube laying around?” Tailor asked. 

Rick moaned at the words then moved away for a few moments. Tailor didn't see where from but the lube was retrieved and tossed onto the bed. 

“I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing back here,” Rick said hesitantly, but it didn't stop his hands from stroking over his ass like it was the most natural thing in the world. It also didn't stop him pulling Tailor's pants down, exposing his ass. 

“Well you have the right idea so far,” Tailor snorted. “You’ve done this with a woman before, yes?”

“Anal? Sure.” 

“Well just do what you did then. Just- just let me get undressed. I don't want to leave here with spunk up the front of my shirt like last time.” 

He pushed himself upright, his back met Rick's chest and he felt his jacket being removed from him. He sighed softly as Rick undressed him, his hands roaming his body as new inches of it were exposed. It was the first time he'd been naked in front of him and he made sure to get a good look when Rick pulled off his own shirt. Christ, he looked good; so much muscle tone you could play his abs like a xylophone. He was a little hairier than Tailor would usually go for, but he wasn't complaining at all. 

Once they were both nude, Rick guided Tailor back down, his chest to the mattress with his ass in the air. It took his breath away when Tailor felt a tongue at his asshole, stroking and massaging the puckered opening, sending shots of pleasure right to his cock. He was not expecting that; though he supposed that was what he did to the women he slept with. Or at least the lucky ones. His cock throbbed and hardened fully, and he took it in his hand to stroke himself while Rick continued to use his tongue on him. It was over all to soon and Rick pulled away, reaching for the bottle of lube. 

“I-I-I'm gonna finger you,” he told Tailor, pouring some lube out onto his fingers before stroking them over Tailor's entrance. He fucked him open with his fingers slowly, making Tailor pant and fidget on the bed, stroking himself quicker, though he soon had to stop in fear of cumming. 

“Fuck me,” Tailor breathed, his hand tightening in the bed sheets. Rick didn't need asking twice, immediately withdrawing his fingers to lube up his cock. Tailor could feel himself getting impatient, needy, dangerously close to begging, he bit down on his tongue and hummed quietly into the bedsheets. 

“You ready, baby?” The pet name infuriated him but he didn't say a word.

“Yes! Just do it,” he hissed. He choked out a gasp as Rick pushed in quickly, stretching him open and filling him up in a jerky thrust. 

“Shit, s-sorry,” he whispered, gripping onto Tailor's waist while he gathered himself. 

“Please!” Tailor whined, mentally kicking himself in the balls for doing so. His next words were a little more dignified. “Don't piss about going slow, just give it to me.” 

“Fuck. O-okay.” 

Rick's breaths were shaky, and so were his hands where they held the other man tightly. He started moving, it was like he'd forgotten how to have sex and his hips weren't doing exactly what he told them to, but he bit down on his bottom lip and got a grip. After a while he found his rhythm, pounding into Tailor at a quick pace; he got a thrill out of hearing him moan and gasp. He wasn't as vocal as most of the women he'd been with so it made it all the more rewarding when he got the angle just right and he cried out, cursing through gritted teeth. 

The ass in front of him was round and soft, he couldn't help grabbing onto it and squeezing, parting the cheeks so he could watch his cock slipping in and out. A string of profanities left him and he sped up, his thrusts becoming rougher until he could hear a clapping sound. But it felt too distant, too impersonal. He couldn't see Tailor's face at all and he didn't like that. He paused for just a moment and pushed Tailor's hips down so he was laying flat on his front; then he lowered himself down over him, holding most of his weight with his arms but putting their bodies flush together. Tailor was panting, he lifted his head from the mattress and craned his neck to try and look behind him. Resting his chin on Tailor's shoulder, Rick began rolling his hips again, fucking him right into the mattress now that he could see his face better. Tailor's cock rubbed up against the bed now, dampening the sheets with precum and pulling louder sounds from him. He was getting close. 

Tailor bent his legs, hooking them around the back of Rick's calf's so they were even more intimately entwined. Mistake number four. Rick groaned into his ear and began planting sloppy kisses on his shoulder, whispering unintelligible things but Tailor could make out the odd word. Pet names, mostly. Sweet things. It stopped him from cumming, and when Rick reached his peak and finished deep inside him, Tailor was quick to get dressed and make an excuse to leave with his unspent cock. It raised a few questions, but Rick was nothing if not a smooth talker and got out of there feeling more frustrated than he'd gone in. He had an unsatisfactory wank when he got home, then threw himself into his work.

 

-

 

He should not have had that last drink. He was full of mistakes these days, Tailor. But Rick had turned up at his studio when he was already feeling buzzed; he'd stopped working a while ago and was now just sticking around so he wouldn't have to go home and see his family. Not that he hated the family, he just had to be in the right mood to see them; and that night it wasn't one of those moods. He knew who it'd be when there was a knock on the door but let him in anyway, they ended up having a few drinks together. Tailor instructed him on how to suck cock that evening, sitting down on the same chair he'd been sitting on when he'd sucked Rick off the other week. But Rick was on his knees, he looked good like that, and even better with cum on his face. 

When Tailor eventually went home that night he was two loads lighter and his ass was a little sore. He also had a horrible, sickly knot in his stomach that didn't go away until he was asleep. 

 

-

 

When had they exchanged phone numbers again? Probably when Tailor was drunk. But his chest felt tight every time his phone went off now and not in a good way. It was constant. At first it had been about sex, Rick would send him pictures of himself and sure, Tailor liked it for a while. But then he'd text about random things, asking him how his day was, what suit he was working on, when they were going to see eachother next and if he wanted to come over right now. Not to have a quickie, but to have dinner because Rick was making pot roast.

Shit.

Dinner? If Tailor had learned anything it was that when fucking turns to having dinner, there was an issue. And so he said he couldn't, he was busy, perhaps another time? Perhaps not. He stopped answering his texts after that.

 

-

 

He slipped up again. Mistake six? Seven? He'd lost count. The radio silence had worried Rick and he turned up in person again. He looked so hurt that Tailor found himself feeling sorry for him when he could've used the opportunity to tell him to leave him the hell alone. Instead, he kissed him, sucked him off, and got his first _I love you_ in decades. He nearly vomited, literally, and spent the next fifteen minutes salivating profusely into the toilet with Rick on the other side of the door, asking if there was anything he could do.

_Fuck off!_ Tailor wanted to say, but didn't. 

When his stomach finally settled and he went back out, Rick was still there. Tailor stood across the room from him, not really knowing what to say or do, but Rick closed the gap. He pulled him into a hug, pressing his face into the side of his neck and mumbling an apology. He was sorry for what he said. He didn't know why he said it. He knows it was too soon. Can we just carry on as normal? 

Tailor knew he should've kicked him out then and there, but God did those thick arms of his feel good around him, his chest so firm and muscular. He took him back to his house and rode him in his bedroom, in his bed, Jesus Christ what was he thinking? He couldn't blame himself, though. Being on top felt incredible, he could set the pace and take exactly what he wanted, he could hold onto Rick's chest and put all his weight on him and he didn't hear a single complaint. Rick just watched him intensely the entire time, his teeth clamped down on his bottom lip and his eyes darkened just enough to make him look a little dangerous. Tailor shot his load over those glorious abs, revelling in the way Rick growled out in satisfaction as he did. 

When Tailor decided to push his luck and wipe up some of his cum to offer to Rick, he wasn't even sure if he was surprised when his fingers were licked clean without a hint of hesitation. But he was sure he could cum again right there when Rick thanked him for it. _Thanked him_. What had he gotten himself into? They shared the bed for the night but Tailor didn't sleep a wink, he was too hot with the body pressed up behind him, it was like suffocating but how could he ask him to leave after everything they'd done?


	22. Charlie Foxtrot: 5/7

Tailor needed something different, something easy. So he turned to that tidy looking hairstylist he'd met at RickCon. He was always pleased to see him, was always willing to give Tailor what he needed; so he invited him over to his house for a mid afternoon romp. His phone was beeping away to itself the entire time, prompting multiple questions from the hairstylist, but Tailor told him to ignore it and tried to keep the sourness off his face. 

He didn't like it when Stylist smoked in his home, even less so now that he associated the smell with somebody he was trying not to think about. 

“Could you not?” he grouched, scowling at him from where he was dressing in his newly finished lavender suit. 

Stylist wordlessly stubbed it out. He always liked to hang around after sex, sometimes Tailor wouldn't mind but he wasn't in the mood for clinginess; lord knows he'd had enough of clinginess. But he was lounging around in the bed that still smelled like _him_ from the previous night; Tailor could only hope it'd be replaced with the less irritating scent of Stylist's cologne, if he was insisting on putting off getting dressed for so damn long. 

“What's crawled up your ass?” 

“You don't want to know,” Tailor scoffed, tying his tie as he looked in the mirror. He had dark circles under his eyes and he made a mental note to book a spa day; the works, to treat himself.

“Trust me, I do,” Stylist deadpanned, his curiosity plain as day on his face. 

“I might've made a mistake,” Tailor admitted with a sigh. 

“Not you. Never.” 

“Shut up. I may have… I think I've slept with someone I shouldn't have.”

“Me?” Stylist blinked dumbly and Tailor groaned. 

“You're not the only sorry bastard that'll give me the time of day, you know.”

Stylist averted his eyes as nonchalantly as he could, but Tailor could tell he was pissed off. 

“Oh come on. Don't you- you know we're just- you don't think we're mutually exclusive, surely?” Tailor stammered incredulously, his heart dropping into his stomach. Similarly to how it did when he was around his SEAL team Rick, but not exactly...

“Of course not. I wouldn't think so highly of myself.” Stylist rolled his eyes, throwing the duvet back and getting up. 

Tailor's eyes dropped to his cock as if it was a flashing neon sign, he forced himself to look away with a sigh. 

“Don't start.”

“I'm not starting.”

“I've already got one fellow following me around like a newborn duckling, I don't need another one.” 

“Trust me, I know my place. I wouldn't dream of becoming an inconvenience,” Stylist muttered, dressing himself in a suit he'd been wearing lately that Tailor had made for him. 

It'd been a birthday gift, and it was just as much for Tailor's benefit as it was for his; he looked good. A deep fuschia jacket with a rose pattern on the lapels. White trousers and shirt. It was just outlandish enough that Stylist had loved it. 

Tailor saw him come up behind him in the mirror to smooth out his hair, ensuring it was all swept neatly upwards. They made eye contact for a few seconds. 

“So who's this mistake?” 

“He's in the SEAL team.” 

“Oof. Have fun with that one.” 

“Christ. I thought he was going to be fun.”

“Isn't he?”

“Hm. He's definitely fun.” Tailor turned around to face him. “But like I said. Newborn duckling.”

“Call it off. Sooner rather than later,” Stylist advised him. 

Tailor opened his mouth, caught between wanting to make a smart-arsed comment like _you would say that_ and accepting that he had a point. Nothing came out in the end except;

“But…” 

“But what?” Stylist cocked a brow at him. 

But he's _fun_ , he thought. He's hot. He's everything he wants from a friend with benefits; he could call him any time and he'd be there and he'd let him do whatever the hell he wanted and fuck, did Tailor get a kick out of it. He sighed and shook his head dismissively. 

“I have a meeting with the Council soon,” Tailor said, and Stylist took the hint. 

“Alright. Well, it was good to see you again,” he said with a sigh, seeing the way Tailor looked at him like he had two heads. Sometimes getting any kind of warmth from him was like getting blood out of a stone. He didn't bother going in for a kiss like he usually would, he wasn't going to push his luck while Tailor was in this mood. 

 

-

 

He hadn't taken the advice. He was going to, he even went over to Rick's place after his meeting to speak to him, to finally clear the air and lay it all out for him. He didn't want anything serious, he wanted fun! But when he turned up Rick was outside washing his car and he was shirtless. Tailor could see the tattoos covering his back now much more clearly than he ever had before; his preferences in the bedroom meant there'd never been a reason for Tailor to be standing behind him, getting a good look at his back. They didn't obscure his muscles as they worked to help him reach the roof of the car, and they drew Tailor in like a moth to a lamp. All thoughts of breaking things off with him evaporated instantly, and he approached Rick with a look in his eye that had him dropping his sponge into a bucket and leading Tailor inside. 

Apparently his roommate was inside, but he was asleep. They'd be okay as long as they were quiet or put some music on to drown out the sound. Tailor wasn't a fan of the rock music he put on but if it meant he could bounce around on top of him without worrying about the bed springs squeaking, he could deal with it. 

Tailor liked how Rick would lay back, his muscles slightly tense and his fists clenched in the bed sheets as he rode him, just watching him like he was some sort of wonderful mythical creature. Like he didn't understand his luck, like he was hypnotised, enthralled, not even flinching when there were nails digging into his chest leaving angry red marks. It filled Tailor with a sense of importance and pleasure that verged on sexual; separate from the act of actually having sex with him. All he needed was that look to fuel him, to fill some sort of void or emptiness in him. It was thrilling and Tailor fucked himself on Rick's cock (because he was barely a participant at this point, perhaps a tool) through a dry prostate orgasm before finally finishing by painting stripes up his partner's chest. Rick came when he did, and Tailor wasn't ashamed that he hadn't noticed until he pulled off, dripping all over him. 

Rick didn't bother cleaning up now that he was in his own bed; he simply rolled onto his side to face Tailor once he'd climbed off. Catching a glimpse of those tattoos creeping over the top of his shoulder, Tailor urged him to roll completely onto his stomach, which he did without question. He ran a hand over his back, tracing the artwork that was permanently displayed there. The tattoos were tribal and perfectly symmetrical, like there was a mirror resting along his spine, thick black lines like brushed ink curved and twisted together in intricate patterns, all pointing inwards to a central feature. It looked like it could be a pair of eyes and a muzzle, like a tiger or a wolf or something, but it was slightly abstract, only really there if you looked for it. Tailor studied it for a long time, tracing a finger along some of the lines, they were shaded in a way that made it look as if they were raised, though they were of course flat to the touch. 

Rick's heart was beating quickly the entire time, not given the chance to calm down after his orgasm. Tailor's hands felt cool and pleasant against his skin and though he was ticklish in some areas, he tried desperately hard not to twitch or laugh in fear of ruining the moment. He didn't want to give Tailor any reason to stop, so he simply laid there and savoured the moment, taking slow deep breaths to try and keep himself present, not to get too wrapped up in the sensation. He was sure he'd never been so ecstatic.

Tailor, completely unaware of the storm inside the other man, thought about how lovely a suit jacket would look with some embroidery in this style done on the back. Black fabric with golden thread? Stunning. He made a mental note to draw up some designs when he got home.


	23. Charlie Foxtrot: 6/7

A pattern emerged. Rick and Tailor saw each other regularly; sometimes Tailor would get an itch that needed scratching and he would seek him out, but most of the time Rick would be the one to initiate their time together. Either by turning up at Tailor's studio or house, or inviting him over to his place; that was happening a lot more, sneaking around at Rick's apartment while his roommate was home. Tailor had no idea how he hadn't been caught yet, he never really made an effort to keep the noise down, but Rick always had a CD ready to go when he came over. Tailor didn't really appreciate being treated like a dirty secret but at the same time, he didn't particularly care as long as he kept getting what he needed. Anyway, if they started telling people they were hooking up it would shift things into something more serious.

Which is why Tailor nearly threw up again when Rick snuggled up to him like a needy puppy after fucking one afternoon and whispered that he thought it was about time he told his roommate, at least, what was going on. He was closest to him of all his fellow SEAL team members, he felt confident he wouldn't react badly, he was pretty laid back and if they told him they wouldn't have to be so secretive. Rick wanted Tailor to feel comfortable here, not like he had to tiptoe around like they were doing something illegal. Well, it wasn't like Rick felt uncomfortable anyway, he couldn't care less if some faceless Rick down the hall found out by accident, he wasn't tiptoeing around anything.

“No. It's not about time for anything like that,” he said harshly, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as his heart started thumping. 

“What? O-okay. I just thought that if–”

“Don't bother! Don't think. It's fine the way it is.” 

“Alright. I wo-won’t say anything.” Rick looked down at his feet, frowning slightly. 

Tailor stared at him over his shoulder and sighed in frustration. 

“Don't be like that. You're the one who was so scared of being seen with me you shoved me into a cupboard,” he grumbled. 

“Don't say it like that, you make it sound way worse than it was. And that was ages ago, why're you still holdin’ onto that?” Rick's voice was still far softer than Tailor's was, but it was clear he wasn't happy. 

“Because it's relevant! You can't just start out like that, then expect me to go along with it when you want to introduce me to all your bloody friends.”

“I don't wanna do that! I just wanna make our lives easier by tellin’ him. Just one guy, the guy I live with.” 

“How will it make our lives easier? We'd still have to blare music out or try to keep quiet, unless you're happy with him listening in on us every time we have sex.” 

Rick didn't respond to that. Tailor did have a point. He just sighed and dropped it, his face softening, he reached a hand out to Tailor's shoulder, who flinched when he was touched.

“I'm sorry,” Rick told him. Tailor stood up and moved out of his grip, putting his clothes back on.

“I need to finish the Council's commission, it's due Friday and I still haven't hemmed the trousers; I've got six pairs to do. I need to do the buttons as well. Then they'll need pressing,” Tailor muttered under his breath. 

Rick watched him get dressed with a look of concern on his face. He got up. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Stop touching me!” The hand meeting his shoulder for a second time set him off and Tailor yelled, slapping Rick's arm away. 

Rick held his hands up and stepped away, looking confused and worried and _so fucking stupid_ , Tailor wanted to hit him. He growled in annoyance and stormed out of the room. 

He marched right past Rick's roommate who was in the kitchen, his eyes followed him – they were two different colours, one of them looked like a prosthetic – in blank confusion but Tailor didn't give him a second glance. He went straight for the front door. He hadn't intended on being seen, he wasn't even thinking straight, he'd just been feeling so trapped in that room with him and his stupid face and his stupid concern and it hadn't even occurred to him to portal out of there. Oh well. It wasn't his problem anymore.

He took a few moments to calm himself down once he was out of the building, taking refuge down the alleyway where all the bins were. He had his hands braced on the side of a large dumpster, taking deep breaths, his eyes closed and his head hanging down between his shoulders. He'd gotten so damn angry. Why was he so angry? Because of him! Who the hell did he think he was? Acting like he had control over what this was, what they were; not that they were anything at all. Trying to _push_ Tailor into a corner he didn't want to be in, taking all that he had given him and twisting it, making him feel like this. So ill. So angry! 

Tailor took in a sharp breath and opened his eyes, instantly realising where his hands were and jerking back, holding his arms out like they were filthy, though there was nothing on them. After a moment, he turned and walked from the alleyway onto the streets of the Citadel. He found himself in a bar – there were no shortage of those – and drank whiskey until his stomach felt settled. He never could stand being at the Citadel for too long; far too many versions of his own face staring back at him at once, and so he decided to go home. Though not before making a phone call. 

“How soon do you think you can be at the studio?” 

“Uhh, an hour, maybe?” 

“Alright. Be there with cake, something sugary. Marzipan… Battenberg.” 

Tailor didn't hang around to hear the protests that followed, he simply hung up and portaled his way home. 

 

-

 

Tailor's assistant was nothing if not loyal and an hour from the phone call, Tailor turned up at his studio to find her sitting patiently with a supermarket own brand battenberg on a paper plate. It was hardly a sophisticated afternoon tea set up but it'd have to do, and Tailor was slightly drunk anyway so he couldn't care less as long as he could eat something delicious to soak up some of the whiskey in his belly.

“Well this is odd. It's not your birthday, that's in March, is there a reason I'm here with cake? I didn't bring any candles,” she said as Tailor strolled over, shedding his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair he pulled out to sit at. 

“I wanted cake,” he shrugged, dragging over the paper plate and using the blunt plastic knife provided to hack a generous slice off. “Would you care for some?”

“No, thank you,” she shook her head and watched as Tailor practically bit the slice in half with one mouthful. “So you just wanted me to bring you some cake. No other reason I'm here?”

“Oh for- if I'm that terrible to be around, you have permission to piss off,” Tailor snapped with his mouth full, and his assistant watched a crumb fly towards her before landing just shy of her on the table. 

She paused for a few moments before responding to the outburst, her mind registering the fact that this wasn't just one of his bad moods. 

“I didn't mean to imply anything like that. You know I enjoy working for you, Tailor. When you called me so suddenly I wondered if you perhaps needed my help on the Council's robes or something, the deadline is coming up.” 

“Oh God,” he sighed, dropping the remainder of his cake onto his plate and burying his head in his hands. 

“What's wrong?” she asked. “Are you behind? I am happy to help you, you taught me how to blind stitch and you said yourself I was good at doing the buttons. Would that be useful right now?” 

“No, it's- actually yes. Buttons. I've marked out the placement, all you'll need is over in that drawer. That would give me one less thing to think about.” 

He picked up the cake again and finished off the slice, grumbling on as his assistant retrieved a jacket and a handful of buttons. “I wasn't thinking about everything I needed to do and I got pissed at the Citadel. I can't work on those suits now, I'm useless,” he told her bluntly.

“You've been drinking?” she asked, as though she hadn't noticed when she definitely had. 

“I've gotten myself into a complete mess, darling, I don't know what to do,” he sighed, passively watching over her as she got to work. He interrupted his woe to remind her, “Make sure the initials on the buttons are the right way up.” 

“Of course. Would you like to talk about this mess?” 

“I suppose that's what I had in mind when I called you. Though, I don't know what good it'll do.”

“Well, I'm all ears.” 

Despite her saying so, Tailor remained quiet for a long while, but she didn't push. She kept her eyes focused on the button as she sewed it in place on the jacket. 

“Personal question,” Tailor started, clearing his throat. “I suppose I'm obliged to say you don't have to answer this if you'd rather not. I'd just like to know… you and I.C. When you got together, did you sleep with him before or after developing feelings for him?”

His assistant paused, looking up from the button at Tailor as she thought about the question. 

“After,” she said. “Though it was early on… I can't say I was as in love with him as I am now, when it happened. But there was something there, for sure.” 

“Hmm,” Tailor mused, tapping his fingernails on the table.

“Why'd you ask?”

“Follow up question. Have you _ever_ slept with someone when there were no feelings there?” he continued, his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“Yes. Though, I was on the other side of it. Meaning, I had feelings, they didn't.”

“Oh?” 

“It was a long time ago,” she shrugged, looking down at her work. 

“And how did you deal with it?” 

“Me? I put a stop to the whole thing when I realised it wasn't going any further than just sex. I didn't want to hang around to get hurt,” she admitted, taking a breath and exhaling sharply. “Not seeing them at all was better than being able to sleep with them but knowing it didn't mean anything.” 

Tailor frowned down at the table, gnawing on his lip. He looked annoyed by something she'd said, and as soon as she noticed she questioned him.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I find myself in a situation where…” he paused, sucking in a breath. “I'm quite certain that someone I have been seeing has the wrong impression. Somewhere along the way they seem to have developed this idea of me that's false, and as a result they think what we have is going somewhere.”

“Wordy. To clarify, you've been sleeping with someone and now they have feelings for you?” 

“I believe so.”

“And you don't return them,” she assumed, giving Tailor a funny feeling in his gut that he forced down and ignored.

“Correct. The issue is… I rather enjoy what we have as it is.”

“Well you know that's not going to work, right?” 

“Why wouldn't it? It's been perfect up until now. I don't understand why things can't just stay how they are.” 

“You're pulling my leg,” she looked at him gone out and Tailor stared back with a clueless look. “You really don't see why that can't happen?”

Tailor squirmed, averting his eyes. 

“If this person has feelings for you, it's cruel to string them along, expecting them to give you what you want without having their own emotional needs taken into consideration.”

“I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind so long as he got to keep seeing me, you should see the way he looks at me.”

“Oh, wow,” she breathed, shaking her head. 

“I didn't invite you here so you could sit there and judge me.”

“I'm not judging you. I'm just shocked that you're being so… uhh…” She searched for the right word and Tailor cocked a brow expectantly. “Cocky! And what did you expect? Did you think I'd just reassure you that it's perfectly fine and dandy to just ignore how he feels?”

Tailor didn't respond, and she felt like maybe she was getting through. 

“Who is he? Someone in the fashion business, or?”

“He's a Rick.”

“A Rick?” she repeated, shocked. “That hairstylist from RickCon?”

“Oh, God no. He's… he's good. He knows what we are,” Tailor shook his head.

His assistant wasn't surprised to hear that they were still seeing each other. Sometimes the hairstylist would be at the studio when she arrived at work. For a while she thought they were getting serious, but it was evident now that that wasn't the case. 

“So that buff guy you had that fitting with the other week?” she frowned to herself, deep in thought.

“I'm sorry?” Tailor's head jerked up, his face a picture of surprise.

“It is? I came over to the studio one evening, I was going to go in and speak to you because you hadn't really asked me for any help. I wondered if something was wrong. But this Rick was waiting outside, I asked him what he was doing and he said he had a suit fitting with you. I didn't think anything of it, I didn't want to get in the way so I just left,” she explained, and Tailor sighed in annoyance. 

“So much for discreet,” he muttered. 

“Well, it was pretty discreet, to be fair. He had me convinced,” she shrugged. “I haven't thought about that until now. But that's him then. What is he; in the army or something? He had dog tags, he also kept calling me ma'am, which was… nice,” she chuckled. 

“Christ,” Tailor muttered, rolling his eyes. 

“Lovely accent, too.”

“Do you want to take him off my hands, or . . .?” Tailor grouched, he sounded sarcastic but she couldn't be too sure. 

“No. I'm perfectly happy with my Rick,” she grinned. “So is he?”

“What?” 

“In the army.”

“Oh. He's in the SEAL team, at the Citadel,” Tailor explained with a sigh, looking down at the table and leaning his head on his hand.

“He didn't strike me as your type,” she commented, causing Tailor to scoff.

“Perhaps you don't know my type, then.”

“Hmm, he's cute, southern, big. But the piercings?” she asked incredulously.

“Mm, I'm not a fan. But the dinner plates in his ears don't bother me unless I look at them so I suppose it's not a huge deal,” Tailor told her nonchalantly, and she giggled.

“I thought you'd say something like that,” she smirked. 

“Very nice body art, though. It's inspired a new line of shirts and jackets…” 

“Tailor. He seems nice,” she said, and her tone made it sound like a scolding.

“And?”

“If you don't want him the way he wants you, do him a favour and try not to hurt him,” she warned, giving him a stern, meaningful look. He stared at her for a while before dropping his eyes again.

Tailor sighed. 

“I never asked for all of this. I'd argue that I'm the victim here,” he muttered, almost under his breath. 

She tutted and rolled her eyes. “Nobody is a victim, yet. Just be honest with him and see what happens. You can't string him along.” 

“I've never given any indication that I wanted him for anything other than a bit of fun,” Tailor told her, but his voice wavered when he thought back over his actions. He most definitely had. But it hadn't been on purpose, so that should count for something.

“I'm not going to keep arguing, this is your thing. I can only give my best advice,” she shrugged her shoulders and turned her focus back to sewing on the jacket buttons. 

Tailor didn't say anything after that, and the two sat in silence for a long time as she worked.


	24. Charlie Foxtrot: 7/7

Christ it was awkward, standing in Rick's kitchen again with a cup of coffee, just like day one. It'd been a week since Tailor had seen him. Rick had of course been texting, but Tailor hadn't wanted to deal with the whole mess at the time, and so he'd waited. In that time, he'd finished the robe's for the council, and had met up with them for a few drinks here and there. A couple of the council members had taken a shine to Tailor, something that he wasn't at all displeased about. But he knew he couldn't keep putting it off, and he wasn't one for completely ghosting somebody unless the situation was extremely bad, so he finally texted Rick back and agreed to meet him at his apartment. 

It was just the two of them, no sign of the roommate, and they hadn't said much outside of meaningless pleasantries since he'd arrived, but Tailor could see that Rick wasn't happy. His usual smile was absent, his voice was monotone, and he stood on the other side of the kitchen with his arms crossed. 

With a sigh, Tailor broached the subject. “Did your roommate give you any grief?”

“Not really,” he shrugged, not looking him in the eye. 

“I didn't do that on purpose, you know. I-I-I just felt- I was angry and I didn't think before I acted. That was inconsiderate.”

“Yeah, it was.” 

Rick finally looked at him, and Tailor suddenly felt this horrible ache in his stomach at his blatant disappointment in him. 

“Sometimes my emotions get the better of me–” Tailor rushed to excuse himself, only to be spoken over.

“It's fine. He didn't say much about it. Told me he wouldn't ask and that he never saw nothin’,” Rick shrugged. “Nothings happened since and I don't think it ever will, 'specially if he doesn't see you here again.” 

Oh God. Tailor wanted to hurl, only this time it wasn't because Rick was being too affectionate, but because he was cold. This should please him, but it didn't. 

“So you're saying I'm not welcome here?”

“I said nothing like that.” 

“It certainly sounded that way.”

“Well I guess you need your ears checked,” Rick narrowed his eyes, giving Tailor a dirty look. 

Tailor stared for a few long moments, silenced and rendered completely unable to respond. Rick was always so mild mannered and kind and understanding yet he was so sharp with him today. Tailor didn't know what to make of it, but he knew he didn't like it. 

“You say that it's fine, but you're clearly unhappy with me,” Tailor finally managed to say, placing his cup of coffee down on the kitchen counter, no longer interested in drinking it. 

“I'm not.”

“You must think I'm stupid.”

“I absolutely do not,” Rick hissed, his brow coming down into an arched V as if Tailor had said something extremely offensive. “You're far from stupid, Tailor. I wouldn't dream of suggesting anything like that.”

“Alright. You don't think I'm stupid. But you are definitely angry with me, you've never acted like this before. I'd rather you just be honest with me.”

“I'm not angry with you, I'm just waiting for you to rip the damn band aid off, but you're taking your sweet time,” Rick told him with a heavy sigh, tilting his head back and leaning it against the fridge behind him. “Ain't no point to me being a kiss ass if you're just gonna tell me it's time to move on.” 

“You think I'm here to put a stop to this?” Tailor asked. He had no idea where the incredulous tone was coming from, because this was exactly what he was doing. 

“Am I wrong?” Rick asked in a dry tone. 

Tailor neither confirmed nor denied it. 

“It's probably for the best anyway, right?” Rick admitted, his voice dropping quieter. “You ain't interested in sticking around with a guy like me, sharing a shit hole apartment with some other guy.” 

“I'm sorry?” 

“You just wanted to get laid, right? You don't want nothin’ else. I'm wasting my time sitting around expecting a call from you asking to do something other than get you off. And that's fine, I ain't judging. I just don't wanna be a part of it anymore.”

“Hold on. No–”

“I know that I'm a rarity. A Rick who actually wants something that means something! You probably ain't used to this so I'll make your life easier and leave you be. It's been fun while it lasted, though. Thanks.”

“What're you saying? You can't be serious, you're not–”

Rick suddenly raised his voice. “Are you arguin’ ‘cause you're disagreeing, or because this ain't going how you planned?” 

Tailor jumped at the sudden shift. He didn't have time to respond before Rick kept going.

“‘Cause I know your type. You're only happy when things are going your way, when you're the one calling the shots. I might be saying all the right damn things and you'll argue, ‘cause it ain't you saying 'em. I ain't got time for time wasters, if you ain't prepared to consider what I want out of this relationship, I'm out.”

Tailor was stunned by the outburst but absorbed every word. He hated how accurate he was, he never considered how transparent he might be, nor how observant Rick was. He swallowed the excess saliva that had formed in his mouth and looked down at the floor, frowning. When he spoke, his voice was small.

“You're right. I don't want anything other than sex,” Tailor simply said, his face burning and his throat feeling weird, eyes stinging. It took him a moment to realise it was emotion and not a nasty allergic reaction to something he'd consumed. “And I did come over here to end things with you.”

“Well there you go. No need to argue, it's all done and dusted.”

Tailor stayed where he was, scowling down at the floor like it was his worst enemy. He felt such a tumultuous mix of emotions in his gut. He was angry, he was sad, he was relieved, regretful, grateful, confused. He hated himself, mostly. He wasn't entirely sure why; but it definitely had to do with having himself so annoyingly, accurately summed up by some guy he only thought of as a fun lay. 

He could deal with all that, though. It was the strong urge to cry that was causing him the most problems. He wasn't the one who was meant to be in tears, he wasn't supposed to feel so terrible, he wasn't the one who should've been dumped. None of this was right, none of it at all. Anger built and he let out an audible growl, snapping his head up and jabbing a finger in Rick's direction. 

“You have no idea why I am the way that I am. I for one cannot believe how selfish and ignorant you have been throughout this entire ordeal, expecting me to be more than I can be! You ask too much! You're so needy, always texting and wanting to _touch_ me and be near me, it's been _suffocating!_ ” Tailor exploded, yelling louder than Rick ever had. 

Rick straightened up, pushing away from the fridge, his eyes widening a little in surprise. 

“I'll be glad to finally be free from it! I never gave you the impression I wanted more, you just took everything I gave you and- and- I gave you and inch and you took a mile! And then you have the cheek to make all these bloody assumptions about me, and you're dumping _me_?” Tailor finished with a humourless laugh, though it was more like a jerky exhale that he had to try very hard not to allow it to turn into a sob. 

“Nobody's dumping anybody, I was under the impression this was a mutual thing, I–”

“Shut your stupid mouth!” Tailor shouted, stomping a foot on the ground, the slightly raised heel of his loafers clacking against the kitchen tile. He hadn't intended to look like a petulant child, but he had. 

“I've had about enough of this, if you're not gonna act like an adult I want you out.” 

“Don't worry. I'm leaving of my own accord.” 

“Calm your Goddamn ass down, you ain't finished your coffee.”

“I don't give a bloody shit about my coffee! If it weren't for that stuff I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.” 

“What mess? It's over! If you're that bothered you can tell everyone you dumped me, I don't care. I was hoping we could do this amicably.” 

“I just- I-I-I just–” Tailor stammered, feeling everything rushing at him at once. 

He felt so embarrassed, so foolish, why on earth had he blown up like that? He was better than that, or at least he should've been. He'd reacted appallingly and now that he was giving himself space to breathe, he wished he could rewind time. 

“Come here.”

“What?” Tailor's voice sounded weird, he tried to clear his throat but it didn't help the obnoxious feeling of being on the edge of tears. 

“Git your ass over here,” Rick's voice was sharper and despite himself, Tailor did as he was told. 

Rick was a little rough with him as he pulled Tailor into his arms, rougher than he was before. Tailor wasn't strong enough to break away so he stayed still against his chest, his arms hanging down at his sides as he felt a hand patting and scrubbing between his shoulder blades. He assumed it was meant to be soothing. It wasn't a hug that was in anyway romantic or affectionate, it was a hug that said _everything's okay_ in the most basic way possible. Tailor didn't particularly like hugs when he was fully clothed, but he didn't fight it. Despite his best efforts to keep them at bay, a number of stubborn tears rolled onto his cheeks and he allowed Rick's wife beater to soak them up, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

“Now, I'm gonna let all that slide, ‘cause I know you didn't mean any of it,” Rick said quietly, and Tailor squirmed in his arms. 

“You don't know anything.” 

“Relax. Nobody's here to see this.” 

“You are.”

“And? It's not like I matter all that much,” Rick chuckled. Tailor didn't respond, he just sighed and snorted up the snot in his nose without grace. “Listen Tailor, I know when I see someone who's hurting. I've known since I slipped up and told you I loved you, and you nearly tossed your cookies.”

“That was because m-my assistant brought some of her cooking into work that day and made me eat some,” Tailor lied. 

“No it wasn't,” Rick deadpanned in response.

There as a stretch of silence. Rick wasn't letting go, and Tailor wasn't making any attempts at getting away from him. 

“My wife was a bitch,” Tailor murmured. 

“I thought as much,” Rick sighed, giving another vigorous rub to Tailor's back before gently prying him off of him. 

Tailor turned his head, avoiding looking at him. He knew his eyes would be bloodshot to hell and his face would be blotchy. 

“I should be the one comforting you, you're probably heartbroken,” Tailor quipped grumpily. 

Rick made a passive humming sound in response. 

“I knew what was coming, I prepared myself,” he said, startling Tailor into looking at him. 

He hadn't expected to be taken seriously. Rick looked at him with a certain look in his eye, it was soft and warm with just a little bit of detectable sadness. In a way, Tailor was grateful for that, because it reminded him of the reason he went there in the first place with a sudden wave of nausea. 

Tailor took in a sharp, cooling breath and turned away from him. 

“Well, I suppose I'd better leave you be. I'm sure you have things to do,” he said, pulling out his portal gun and twisting the dial for his home dimension.

“Jus’ wait a sec,” Rick said, grabbing hold of Tailor’s arm, getting a glare tossed his way for his efforts. “Are you gonna disappear off the face of the earth ‘cause of this, or am I gonna get to see you again?”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Tailor questioned, raising a brow and gently removing his arm from Rick’s hand.

“Shit, I don’t know. It’d be a shame if I never got to at least talk to you after all this. Believe it or not, I enjoy your company. And not just the physical aspects of it.”

Tailor jerked a little in surprise, both brows shooting upwards. He didn't often hear things like that from the people he slept with. 

“Well, we’ll see. I have your number, you have mine. There’s no harm in the occasional text message, I suppose,” Tailor allowed, shrugging his shoulders stiffly. Rick nodded and gave him a small smile, which Tailor awkwardly returned.

Wasting no more time, Tailor opened up a portal and with a final nod in Rick’s direction, he left. Alone in the comfort of his studio, he felt different. He wasn’t as angry or sad as he’d felt when in Rick’s kitchen, but he certainly wasn’t happy. There was a certain hollowness in his belly, one that he’d gotten used to for a while in his past, it was like an old friend coming to visit. He sighed and plopped down in one of the nearby chairs and cradled his head in his hands for a while. His sketchbook lay open on the table in front of him, showing him his own illustrations of a shirt with intricate tribal patterns embroidered into the back. He groaned quietly to himself; that was going to be a struggle to make in more ways than one, but there was no denying it’d look incredible. He couldn't call off the whole project due to his break-up… though, it was hardly a break-up; they weren’t ever dating in the first place. 

Tailor heard someone coming through the front door. There were only a couple of people who had a key so he had a good idea of who it was; he took a breath and sat up, grabbing his sketchbook and flicking to a blank page so he could pretend to be working. His assistant walked in a few moments later, she was holding a carrier bag from the supermarket and a cup from the local coffee shop. 

“Hey Tailor. I'm glad you're here, I brought you your coffee and–” she started and Tailor sighed loudly, cutting her off. 

“I didn't say I needed you today,” he snapped, giving her pause. She looked at him for a few moments. 

“Have you been crying?” She asked, a frown colouring her face with concern.

“Of course not, don't be ridiculous,” he grumbled, looking down at his sketchbook to hide his bloodshot eyes. 

“I guess you spoke to Rick today,” she said softly, cautiously. “How did he take it?”

“If I wanted to speak to you about it, I would've brought it up. Will you get your nose out of my business?” Tailor spat through a clenched jaw, not looking up at her. 

“Of course. I apologise,” she said timidly, placing the coffee cup down next to Tailor on the table. “I brought cake again, if you'd like some with your coffee?”

“Are you trying to fatten me up? I don't want your bloody cake, stop trying to interfere. I don't need you here today, go away and spend the day with your little boyfriend.” 

Tailor felt a calmness with the resulting silence from his harsh words. He'd done that.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said after a while. Tailor's eyes closed and he felt a lump in his throat. He hated when people were nice to him like this, it loosened his control on his emotions. 

“I'm a grown man, darling. I don't need babysitting,” he managed to say with a level voice.

“I know that,” she replied in understanding. He heard the rustling of the plastic bag as she placed it down on the table next to him. “I'll leave you to it, then.” 

“Thank you,” Tailor's tone was exasperated and short. His assistant left without another word, just a gentle touch to his shoulder. 

When he heard the door close, Tailor sighed and leaned forwards, resting his forehead on his sketchbook with a groan. Why was he the one being coddled? Everyone knew it was his idea to break things off, he was fine! Rick was the one with inappropriate feelings, he was probably crying into his pillow at that very moment. Tailor was _fine_ , he was just annoyed that things hadn't gone how he'd planned and he'd gotten confused, he'd made a fool of himself, he'd had a stressful few weeks and a lot of things had gotten on top of him. He'd simply been overwhelmed. 

How embarrassing. 

His phone buzzed inside his pocket and his heart dropped to his stomach. He lifted his head, retrieving his phone and taking a cautious look at the message. It was from that Hairstylist Rick, thank God. He was alone and he was bored and he was wondering if Tailor wanted to take advantage of that. He wasn't exactly in the mood for sex, but it would be a distraction, at least. He could just lay down and let him do the work, and it would surely take his mind off of things for a little while. 

Tailor replied promptly, then left his coffee to go cold in the studio.


	25. Cold, Sleepy Morning: Tailor Rick/Hairstylist Rick Drabble

Early morning, and Tailor was awoken by the body next to him rolling over. He didn't know what time it was, could barely bring himself to remember who it was he was laying with. He wouldn't recall it in that moment but the previous night he'd invited Hairstylist Rick over, they'd caught up with each other after a number of long weeks with no meetings. He hadn't _missed_ the other Rick, obviously, but he'd missed the things they did together. They hadn't stopped fiddling with each other in some way or another until the early hours of the morning, and they hadn't been asleep for long. It was the middle of winter and the heating hadn't come on yet, and Tailor – in his exhausted confusion – moaned softly in annoyance at the cold and rolled over. He edged himself closer to the other Rick, closing the space between them, putting their naked bodies flush together. He felt the arms encircling him but didn't think much of it other than welcoming the warmth they brought. He moaned again and snuggled in, ducking his head under the covers and underneath a chin. He was asleep again in seconds, unaware of the lips pressed softly against the top of his head, once, twice, and a final time. 

Neither of them stirred until hours later, and Tailor was the first to wake. The first thing he registered was the sheer comfort he felt, so warm and cozy, wrapped up in blankets and another body. That brought him to his second thought of the day; he was far too close to said body. He opened his eyes slowly and they were met with a wall of milky flesh, sharp, prominent collar bones dotted with a number of purple marks that he vaguely remembered putting there. His heart immediately started pounding, his cozy comfort fizzling away, replaced with anxiety. Had he done this? Goodness gracious. With a stiffness that resembled and wild animal on edge, he slowly removed himself, backing up and sliding out of the arms around him. The other man didn't wake up, and Tailor sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. 

He rubbed the blurry sleepiness from his eyes with a sigh, before turning to look back at his companion. His hair was all over the place, much flatter than it usually was, his blond tips pointing down to his face rather than the sky in its usual impressive updo. Tailor admired this glimpse of him that only a select few people saw, unable to keep his thoughts from the things they'd done the previous night. 

He only pulled his gaze away when he noticed movement, and performed a stretch as Rick woke up behind him. He felt a hand at his back, a gentle, affectionate touch; he muttered a morning greeting before standing up, breaking the contact between them before it could make him feel something it shouldn't.


	26. Closing The Deal: Tailor Rick/Rick Prime NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This follows on from Hoodoo's story, The Old College Try: https://hoodoo12.tumblr.com/post/182603135834/the-old-college-try

Tailor had been slowly buttering Rick Prime up over the few weeks he'd been working for the Council. He hadn't been overtly flirting with him at all, but he'd been planting subtle seeds, playing the long game, waiting for him to start responding. A subtle touch here, a flirtatious smile there, the odd suggestive remark. It had been working, Prime had been reciprocating, touching him back, leaning in close to speak, complimenting him in increasingly personal ways. 

Tailor knew it was the time to strike, and everything had fallen into place that night in that bar. He'd put up with the barmaid flirting with him the entire evening, she'd plied him with enough Dutch courage to finally close the deal with Prime. When he spotted him alone, he made his move, letting the alcohol on his tongue bring out his flirtatious charisma. With a hand on Prime's lower back (and occasionally even lower), he talked him into flirtatious banter. He was looking sharp in the suit Tailor had made for him, but all that was on Tailor's mind was getting him out of it. Soon. He needed it, what with the whole situation he'd had with that SEAL team Rick. Prime would be something fresh, and this time, Tailor would make sure it went his way.

“Looks like it's dying in here. I imagine this place is winding down for the night, h-how'd you like to come back to mine for another drink?” Prime had asked him. Tailor couldn't keep the smile from his face; he'd been gearing up to invite _him_ over, how thrilling that he didn't need to. 

“I’d very much like that. Do you have to tell the other Council members where you're going? We don't want them worrying where their newest member has wandered off to,” Tailor teased. He liked to tease him. Prime was indeed the newest appointed member of the Council of Ricks, and while Tailor didn't actually think any less of him for it, he liked to see Prime's cheeks go pink. 

“No, not unless you'd like to kiss their asses goodbye before we leave,” he quipped back without missing a beat. Tailor jolted, but otherwise did not react. “Come on,” Prime smirked, heading towards the exit. Tailor followed, an amused smile crossing his lips. This would be fun. 

Once outside, Prime pulled out his portal gun and turned the dial. He opened up the portal against the side of the bar, and with a salacious smile on his face, waved Tailor through first. He stepped out into a rather opulent looking home. It was typical of the Citadel's architecture, lots of gold and white, lots of glossy surfaces, lots of frankly ugly attempts at a futuristic style. Tailor didn't turn his nose up, though, he was in Rick Prime's home; that was a pretty big deal. The Council's homes were elusive, most Ricks didn't even know where they were let alone what they looked like. Tailor felt his chest inflate a little at the idea. 

“What would you like to drink?” Prime asked as he stepped through, walking straight past him towards a bar, stocked full of all kinds of alcohol; some of Earth, some not.

“Oh, so you really thought we were coming here for a drink?” Tailor questioned, a thrumming kind of confidence was passing through him now, he was getting what he wanted sooner rather than later. Prime paused a few steps shy of the bar, then turned to smirk at Tailor.

“Of course not, but it'd be impolite not to offer,” he retreated, coming right back towards him. Tailor thought he was getting a kiss, was about to close his eyes in preparation, but no. Prime was pulling his jacket off for him, gently sliding it off his arms. He didn't pull on it roughly like a lot of Rick's would; spending time with him beforehand, he'd learned Tailor's prissiness when it came to his suits. “Allow me to hang this up for you.”

Tailor watched as he carried off his jacket, pressing a button on a nearby wall. It opened up a pair of sliding doors that he hadn't noticed before since they blended into the wall. Tailor raised a brow as he hung it up, there was a hissing sound as mist clouded the opening in the wall, then the doors shut. Not wanting to sound like an idiot, Tailor kept his mouth shut; but he couldn't deny his concern. What the hell was happening to his jacket in there?

“Don't worry, it's just freshening it up. Not that it needs it, mind, the cloakroom simply does that automatically.” Prime told him. 

“Impressive.” Tailor said monotonously, eyes focused on the space where the doors had been. He approached it, running his hand over the wall. There was an almost indistinguishable seam, you'd never realise there was anything amiss about the wall.

Prime laughed quietly through his nose at his distraction, taking his wrist in his hand and gently turning him around, backing him up against the wall. Tailor was stunned for a moment, unable to do anything but stare at him. He was suddenly very close and Tailor's heart was pounding. Prime leaned in, his lips hovering close to his for a few long seconds; Tailor's pants were tightening already and he would've been embarrassed at his body's own reaction if he didn't want it so badly. He was in dire need of a good fucking.

“I bet this is exciting for you, huh? Hooking up with a Council member?” Prime purred, slotting a leg between Tailor's as he pushed him more firmly against the wall. Tailor grunted, his hips jolting as the thigh made contact with his hardening cock. “I heard you like Ricks in high places, you've got a little reputation.” 

“I'm sorry? Who told you that?” Tailor cocked a brow, squeezing his legs together around Prime's thigh, almost as a kind of warning. 

“A little birdie.”

“A little birdie, huh? Was it Riq?” Tailor guessed drily, his eyelids lowering, unimpressed. Prime chuckled, glancing down at Tailor's chest. “I can't say I'm surprised.”

“Perhaps I should be flattered that you picked me.”

“Picked? Darling, I'm simply working my way up,” Tailor retorted, though embarrassingly his hips rolled of their own accord, grinding his cock against Prime's leg. “I thought I'd start with the Council's intern before trying my luck with the rest of them.” 

A flash of shock passed over Prime's face before it was swiftly replaced with amusement. He hummed quietly, shifting his leg to make Tailor gasp and squirm. 

“I'm confident you won't want to bother with the rest of them once you've had me.”

Ignoring that, Tailor continued. “Plus, time is of the essence with you; you're only there for the summer, right? Until they find someone permanent to make the tea.” 

Prime chuckled, licking his lips. His tongue was so close to Tailor's mouth, it brushed against his top lip just slightly. 

“You like that, don't you? Running your mouth.”

“My mouth performs many tasks, running is not one of them. I'm simply making conversation.” 

“You wanna get on your knees and make conversation with something else?” 

“I don't get on my knees for just anyone, you know.” 

“I thought you liked sucking dick? That's what you told Riq that night in the bar.” 

Christ. He wasn't wrong. He and Riq had become something resembling friends over the course of the time he was working for them; and he vaguely remembered a rather frank conversation he'd had with him on one of their outings. He'd drank enough not to think things through, and when the conversation turned to sex (which it so often did when it came to Ricks), Tailor had been far too open. He wasn't aware that anyone else had overheard, but then again, Riq was a gobby little shit and Tailor wouldn't be surprised if he'd been gossiping.

“Oh, I do,” Tailor took it in his stride, owning it. “Doing it on my knees is a different matter; that's reserved for cock I _really_ want.” 

“If that's the case, I can lay you down on your back and slide down your throat in bed, how does that sound?”

“Horrific.” 

Prime laughed at his bluntness, licking his lips again. This time, he followed it up with a kiss. Finally! Tailor moaned into it, tilting his head. Their mouths opened, and there was a clash of tongues and lots of heavy breathing in a matter of moments. Prime's hips shifted forwards, and Tailor felt his erection against his upper thigh. He ground against him, and both men moved in tandem, rubbing their cocks up against each other's bodies unabashedly. Prime broke the kiss, out of breath and losing some of the smug attitude he'd had going on. 

“Lucky for you, I don't mind getting on my knees,” he whispered, grinning then sliding down Tailor's body, settling on the floor between his legs. Tailor made an odd sound; one he didn't control, and his arms moved to press against the wall behind him for support. He looked down and watched as his belt was unbuckled, fly unzipped, and cock pulled out. Prime didn't waste any time, he immediately engulfed him, bobbing enthusiastically on his length, hands holding onto the back of his thighs. Tailor's legs threatened to buckle, and he leaned his entire weight back against the wall as he groaned loudly, tilting his head back to stare at the golden, intricately carved ceiling. Prime was seriously putting his neck into it, slurping and taking him real deep, he looked like something out of a gay porn film… not that Tailor ever watched porn, of course…

“Jesus Christ, s-slow down!” He gasped, his eyes squeezing shut; it was all rather overwhelming. 

“Struggling to ke-keep up?” Prime questioned, pulling back and dragging his hand over his mouth.

“No, I'm just worried you're going to take a chunk out of my cock if you're not careful.” Tailor lied, relieved at the loss of stimulation; he'd never live it down if he came within the first two minutes of entering the damn house. 

“I'm well practised,” Prime winked, taking him back into his mouth, blowing him a little slower this time. It was still intense, but Tailor could handle it. He arched his back, sighing softly over and over, making small, pleased sounds. 

He reached a hand down, his fingers slipping through the curls on Prime's head. Despite being meticulously styled, they felt soft to the touch. Tailor held onto his head as he sucked him, he didn't force anything but he kept his hand there as a subconscious reminder that he was in charge. He looked down when Prime put on a show with his tongue, dragging it up and down the sides of his length while holding it at the base. He tilted his head this way and that, moaning quietly, staring into his eyes with sultry lowered lids. He really did look like a porn star. Tailor winced and pulled his head off his cock, porn stars who sucked cock like that often ended up bottoming (just a guess, of course, he never watched porn). Tailor didn't want to give him the wrong impression, he wasn't up for that. 

“Which piece of ugly furniture am I bending over?” He asked, raising his eyes to scan the room. He comfortably altered the mood just like that; Tailor liked being in charge, but not like _that_. Prime chuckled, rising to his feet. 

“I thought you were trying to get me in that position,” he said. Tailor had made the right move. 

“Not at all.”

“You sure, baby? I could go either way,” he grinned, sliding his hand up and down Tailor's chest. 

“I'm sure. And don't call me baby,” Tailor narrowed his eyes, slipping out from between him and the wall and strolling out into the room, holding his pants up at the waist, cock still jutting out. 

“Bend over the bar for me, it's the perfect height for fucking Ricks.” 

“Slut,” Tailor muttered, approaching the bar. Instead of bending over it like instructed, he leaned against it. 

“Look at you, standing there all coy with your pants up like you've just been caught jerking off,” Prime laughed, closing the gap between them and reaching for Tailor's tie; he loosened it and slipped it off, taking a second to pull it taut between his hands. “Strong enough to hold a knot?” 

“Don't even think about it,” Tailor took it from him and placed it on the bar. His trousers dropped to his ankles, but he made no effort to catch them

“You’re right, it'll keep coming undone; silky fabric,” Prime smirked, gaining an eye roll. He unbuttoned Tailor's shirt, slipping it off and letting it lie on the bar behind him. 

“You going to hang up your jacket in your fancy cupboard?” Tailor asked as he began to undress Prime, carefully unbuttoning it and removing it. 

“That'd mean walking over there,” he shook his head, then unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt before pulling it over his head. Tailor winced a little, but tried to ignore it. Soon enough, all of their clothes were laying across the bar next to them, their shoes discarded on the floor. They were left only in their underwear, that's when they became distracted with stroking each others cocks. Tailor hadn't taken Prime's cock out of his briefs yet, he was rubbing it through the fabric. He didn't get a chance to either, because he was suddenly being spun around and bent over; Prime's hips butted up to his ass and ground against him, and he felt his briefs being pulled down slowly, trapped between their bodies though he was still able to remove them. 

“At some point I'm gonna need to go upstairs and get some lube,” Prime told him breathlessly, grabbing handfuls of Tailor's ass and kneading. 

“I have some, it-it's in my trouser pocket. It's just a little bottle but it'll be enough,” Tailor breathed, pressing his ass back against Prime's cock unconsciously. He didn't miss the cocky chuckle behind him. 

“You came prepared, hm?” 

“Well, I like to be ready for any eventuality,” he bluffed. 

“You certainly don't seem the type of Rick to carry around a bottle of lube on their person at all time. You planned for this, didn't you?” Prime called him out with a smugness that made Tailor clench his jaw. 

“Of course I bloody did, I'm a man who knows what he wants and makes it happen. You can't knock me for that, I certainly made _this_ happen, didn't I?” 

Prime laughed and bent down over Tailor, leaning to whisper in his ear; “slut.”

Tailor didn't react, but his blood bubbled under his skin and he swore he was about to shatter his teeth with how hard his jaw was clenching. Prime reached to the side and found the bottle of lube in Tailor's trouser pocket. 

“I'm not going to find a plug peeking out at me back here, am I? Jus-just how prepared are you?” 

“See for yourself,” Tailor rolled his eyes dramatically, about ready to swallow all his reservations and bend this guy over instead, knock him down a peg. He felt his ass cheeks being spread, then heard the other man groan. His cock jumped.

“Hmm, no plug,” the click of cap on the lube could be heard. “That means I get to loosen up this bad boy myself.”

“Did you just refer to my arse as, 'bad boy’?” 

“What would you prefer, this pretty pink hole? Mm, do you bleach?” Prime mused, Tailor couldn't get his reaction out in time before he was gasping at the cool sensation of a lubed finger rubbing over his asshole.

“Fuck,” he sighed, locking his arms straight and pushing himself more upright against the bar. He parted his legs wider, and Prime breached, pushing to his first knuckle and pumping in and out slowly. 

Times like these, Tailor had to appreciate the simple things in life; like a single finger up the arse. Neat and tidy pleasure, not a lick of pain yet, just clean, good fun. Not that he protested, though, when a second finger was entering him, being scissored. A five star massage for his inner walls. He groaned and submitted – for now – and leaned further over the bar, laying on his chest. 

“God, that's nice. That's gonna feel so fucking good around my cock,” Prime was commentating the whole thing behind him, and Tailor was trying his best to ignore it. The fingers in his ass brushed his prostate and he grunted, bucking against the bar. “Fuck yeah. You love that, don't you? You little slut.”

“You'd be wise to watch your mouth,” Tailor warned. Prime was massaging his prostate now and he was struggling to keep his voice level.

“What, aren't you a slut?” Prime questioned, then brought his free hand down on Tailor's ass firmly. That was it; after reining in the embarrassing sound that came out of his mouth, Tailor moved, spinning around to face him, catching himself on the bar behind him and flashing a death glare at Prime.

He was mortified, of course, when he realised that his face was being ignored in favour of his cock. He followed Prime's gaze down to it, and the steady stream of precum hanging from the tip. Christ. Prime gathered some with his finger and licked it away. 

“Pick a spot and lie down.” Tailor commanded, his tone denying any opportunity for questions. Prime smirked, pulled his briefs down and let them drop to the floor, then stepped out of them and turned his back on Tailor. 

Prime knew he could give as much lip as he wanted and Tailor wouldn't leave; he wanted him too badly. He hadn't been oblivious to the guy's advances, the special attention he got when the Council were being measured up for the suits. No lie, he'd been hoping to be getting the dick rather than supplying it, but he wasn't a picky man. Though, perhaps he'd try twisting Tailor's arm for a round two. He planted the seeds though, hoping Tailor would be paying attention to his ass as he walked away from him. 

He settled on the chaise lounge by the fireplace, laying across it and looking over at Tailor expectantly. He approached him, letting his eyes roll over Prime's body from head to toe, lingering momentarily on his cock standing upright, ready for him to impale himself on. He'd had enough banter, now he wanted this to happen, and to happen on his terms. 

Tailor lifted a leg and swung it over as if he was climbing onto a bike. Prime had gone quiet, he merely watched and brought a hand to Tailor's lower back as he settled into position with his back to him. Tailor didn't want eye contact tonight, he wanted fun, easy pleasure; absolutely no room for any kind of emotional exchange. When Prime brought his fingers to his ass again, preparing to continue where he left off, Tailor hissed at him impatiently.

“I've had enough of that. Lube up your cock.”

Prime didn't argue, taking the lube from Tailor's hand stretching back towards him. He poured some onto his cock, almost the remainder of the small bottle, and jerked himself a number of times to spread the stuff evenly. Tailor didn't let him get carried away, reaching between his legs to replace his hand, holding Prime's cock steady as he lowered himself onto it. He felt the burn immediately, he hadn't had a lot of prep but he was a big boy, he could handle it. Besides, he'd never say it aloud but he quite liked the burn. He bit down on his lip and made himself take more, pushing himself down until he'd taken all he could, then he let out a heavy breath and curled his toes either side of Prime's body.

“Goddamn, your ass feels tight,” Prime told him through clenched teeth, his fingertips pressing into Tailor's lower back. His nails weren't long enough to do any damage, though, so Tailor allowed it. His other hand went to his upper back, stroking up and down shakily. “Fuck.” 

“Are you okay back there? You're doing a lot of panting,” Tailor questioned in a snotty, teasing tone. 

“Yeah, yeah I'm fine,” Prime muttered, and Tailor smirked. He slowly moved upwards, savouring the sensation of Prime's cock sliding out of him, hearing a low, long moan come from the man behind him. When it felt as though his cock was in danger of slipping out completely, Tailor slid back down, riding Prime at a slow pace so that he could warm himself up to the sensations. 

He wasn't patient, though, so sooner rather than later Tailor was picking up the pace, bracing his hands on Prime's legs and bouncing his hips up and down. Prime groaned loudly behind him, his hands drifting all over Tailor's body, feeling the sharpness of his hips, the softness of his waist, the ridges of his spine. Without being able to see Tailor's face he let his hands do the looking, dropping his head back against the chair and closing his eyes. 

Tailor moved faster, until there was a clapping sound as his ass hit Prime's hips each time. He let out a low rumble of pleasure from the back of his throat, tightening his grip on the other Rick's legs as he angled his hips to hit his prostate with each downward motion. His cock was dripping precum onto the chaise lounge, but that wasn't his problem. Prime cursed and sat up on his elbows to watch him move, panting heavily, his legs and toes fidgeting. 

“Fuck, that's it, bounce on that cock for me,” he growled filthily, biting down on his bottom lip and grunting in satisfaction. 

“Christ, who d'you think you're speaking to?” Tailor groused through heavy breaths, glancing over his shoulder. Prime chuckled. 

“But you're doing such a good job, look at this perfect round ass. Lemme give you praise,” Prime grabbed Tailor's ass with both hands, squeezing and parting his cheeks and groaning deeply. Tailor slowed, subconsciously giving him something to look at by doing a few drawn out thrusts, better focusing on the sweet push and pull of his cock. “That's it, holy shit…”

Prime slipped his thumb between Tailor's cheeks, brushing it back and forth over the stretched skin right above his filled opening; watching (and feeling) as his ass clenched a number of times in response. He grinned as Tailor moaned, his toes curling and uncurling again. One of Tailor's hands left his leg, then Prime saw his shoulder moving rhythmically and heard the unmistakable sound of someone jacking off. He licked his lips and leaned back on his elbows, shifting so that he could rock up into him hard and fast. 

“You gonna cum for me?” Prime asked. 

“For you?” Tailor scoffed, as though it was a dirty phrase. 

“Mm, I wanna feel your ass squeezing around my cock when you do, baby.”

“You want me to rip your tongue clean out of your head?”

“Mmm, if you wanna get rough, baby, get rough,” Prime's hand came down on Tailor's ass cheek again, like earlier, though it wasn't as hard. Tailor gasped and jolted forward, almost dislodging the cock in his ass. “Do you like that? Tell me honestly if you like that,” Prime was speaking through gritted teeth now. 

He would if it was someone else doing it, Tailor thought, someone he'd been fucking for more than five minutes. Someone he trusted a little more. An image of a face came to mind, with spiky hair with bleached tips, but he brushed it away; he didn't like thinking of him while he was otherwise engaged. 

“I don't. I suggest you keep your hands to yourself unless you'd enjoy having to pop your fingers back into their sockets,” Tailor warned, though his voice was shaky because he could feel himself getting close. He didn't try to slow himself down, he kind of wanted this over with. He was bored of the back-chatting.

“You don't know what I'm into,” Prime purred, though it was clearly a joke. 

“Christ, you're annoying. Be quiet and ma-make me cum.” 

“You're demanding. I kind of like that about you, Tailor.” 

Tailor rolled his eyes, then closed them, focusing on the sensation of his prostate being struck over and over. He tightened his fist around his cock, pulling the foreskin over the head quickly in time with Prime's movements. He could hear him moaning more intensely, reaching the edge of his climax and Tailor enjoyed that sound, a lot of Ricks sounded similar when they moaned and so he could convince himself he was fucking someone else if things weren't going how he expected. That was the bonus to having multiple partners who were intrinsically the same person. 

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum. Mm, are you ready? Fuuuck,” Prime groaned, his thrusts going a little sloppy. Tailor felt him reach his peak first, he could feel himself being filled with a heavy load of cum, spurt by spurt as loud grunts and groans sounded out behind him. Tailor's breath caught in his throat and he climaxed too. He let go of his cock and let the prostate stimulation do the work, then he was spurting ropes of cum in a long stripe between Prime's legs, all over the chaise lounge. It was quite impressive really, the range he got on it, almost reaching Prime's feet. Tailor's moans died down to soft mewls as the last few sparks of his orgasm sent thinner rivulets of cum down his shaft. He'd made quite the mess.

He wasn't completely satisfied with that, though, and he slowly raised his hips, pulling off of Prime's cock and letting his cum drip out onto him. He supposed he wondered what he'd say about that, if he'd be pissed. Prime didn't seem to care though, giving a quiet moan and collapsing back against the chair. Ricks never really seemed to care about that sort of thing; the messy aftermath of coitus. Once he was sure he wasn't going to dirty his underwear when he got dressed, Tailor climbed off of Prime and immediately headed for his pile of clothes on the bar without a word. He heard Prime move to sit up and sensed him watching him.

“Getting dressed so soon?” He asked. Tailor nodded as he found his briefs and pulled them on. 

“My time is precious,” he mused, going for his trousers. “Will you fetch my jacket?”

Prime got up with a sigh and went to the hidden closet, retrieving it. He held onto it whilst Tailor put the rest of his clothes on. 

“Did you enjoy that?” He asked. 

“The sex? Yes, though I'm sorry about your chaise lounge,” Tailor answered curtly.

Prime shrugged, “It's had worse on it.” 

“I won't ask.” 

“Even for a Rick, you're real eager to get out of here,” Prime noted, handing him his jacket and watching him slip it on. Tailor noted that it smelled like sandalwood after being in that closet, and it felt freshly pressed. Perhaps he'd have to look into getting one of those things in his own house. 

“Don't take it personally, I don't enjoy hanging around once things are said and done,” Tailor explained, crossing his arms and looking at Prime; who was still standing totally naked with his own cum on his lower abdomen, he didn't seem too concerned about that.

“Listen, if you wanna do this again, I-I want you to top me,” he admitted, he just came right out and said it, a little smile tugging at his lips. Tailor raised his brows in surprise.

“As a rule, I don't do that.”

“I don't get as mouthy with a cock in my ass, you might like me more,”

“And you're worried about me liking you, because?” One of Tailor's brows dropped and he gave him a funny look. 

“Oh, I'm not. I'm just saying, I th-think you'd give it to me exactly how I need it,” he purred stepping forwards into Tailor's space, his hand going to his own flaccid cock and idly playing with it. He looked as though he was coming for a kiss, and Tailor let him, standing still as the other man kissed his way up his neck. 

“What makes you think that?”

“You're full of questions,” Prime muttered, his free hand sliding up Tailor's chest. “Think about it, give me a call when you wanna see how different I can be on the receiving end.” 

“I won't need long to think about it,” Tailor told him drily and Prime laughed. 

“Well, the offer is there.”

He got a little too close for Tailor's liking, covered in ejaculate, and he pushed him away by his shoulder to inspect his suit. He was clean, thankfully. Prime had an unhidden look of disappointment on his face, he'd given himself a semi and even Tailor was surprised at how fast he'd managed to get that after cumming. He wasn't ashamed to admit that most of the time, once he was done, he was done. Though, he knew Ricks had a tendency to stick things in their bodies to make them better, maybe he had some sort of microchip in his cock to cut out the refractory period, who knew?

“Thanks for being such a great host,” Tailor teased, retrieving his portal gun. “But I best be off.” 

“You still coming out for drinks with us next week?” Prime asked.

“Of course.”

“Which Council member you going for next? Riq?” Prime smirked, obviously teasing him based on his comment about working his way up the Council.

“Christ, no.”

“I'm surprised, I thought you liked him.”

“Oh, he's alright. Though why would I jump right from the intern to the head of the Council? I believe Max is next up on the payroll.” Tailor grinned, playing his game. 

“Oh, he's not gonna like this kind of talk,” he wagged his finger back and forth between them. “There’s a tip for you.” 

“Fragile ego, hmm?”

“A little.”

They fell silent after some quiet laughter. Right before it could start to feel awkward, Tailor set his portal gun for his home dimension, and fired it at the wall. 

“See you at the bar next week,” he gave him a courteous nod, and headed towards the portal. He heard Prime say his goodbyes just in time before the portal closed behind him. 

As soon as he was alone in his bedroom, he had this gnawing feeling in his stomach. Tailor didn't mind being alone – in fact he enjoyed it – but sometimes he'd get into a certain mood, and he wouldn't be able to stand it. Should he have stayed a little longer with Prime? Had that drink with him? 

Nah. 

It was late but he knew he'd still be up, so he texted Hairstylist Rick. _Would you like to come over and order a takeaway?_ Of course he would.


	27. Reciprocity (Tailor/Hairstylist NSFW)

“Can I ask you something?” Tailor suddenly looked up from his sketchbook to look at Stylist, he was lounging on the sofa nearby, reading one of Tailor's vintage fashion magazines. He looked up, his eyes wide and curious. 

“You can ask, I don't know if I'll have an answer,” he replied. Usually when he'd hang out at Tailor's studio, it'd be silence for most of the day. He liked that, it was a comfortable silence, they appreciated each other's company but didn't feel the need to converse with one another. The question had surprised him. 

“There's a guy who I… I slept with once,” Tailor started, putting his pencil down and giving Stylist his full attention. “And now he wants to- to get together again but this time, switch roles.”

“He wants you to top him?” Stylist questioned, snorting without meaning to. He tried to cover it up, but Tailor didn't seem offended.

“I know, bizarre, right?” Tailor scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

“Alright, so what're you asking, if you should do it?”

“No. I'm not going to do it, I know that. He wasn't that fun the first time round, he's not worth the hassle,” Tailor shrugged.

“Charming.”

“However, I asked myself why I've never been interested in doing that. I mean, I've done it a few times but never with a man, it had always been with my…” Tailor trailed off, letting the sentence drop dead, but Stylist knew who he was talking about. “Hm, I suppose that's a reason in itself,” he muttered.

“Different strokes for different folks. I can go either way,” Stylist shrugged.

“You like bottoming?” Tailor asked, he seemed surprised by this.

“Sure, sometimes.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why?”

“I feel as though I might like to try it. Though, certainly not with that guy. It's been a long time since I topped anyone, I mean years, so I'm not sure if I'll be… well, I'm out of practice,” Tailor admitted, looking back down at his sketch. 

“You're worried you won't be any good?” Stylist smirked in amusement, he wasn't used to Tailor admitting any kind of incapability. Tailor narrowed his eyes at him but let it slide.

“I never liked the idea of giving anal. My wife would ask me and I'd… I'd oblige. But it's rather an unpleasant concept, don't you think?”

“Nope,” Stylist laughed. 

“Really? You don't see at all why it might be unpleasant?” Tailor cocked a brow and watched as Stylist sat up, placing the magazine down next to him.

“Of course, I know exactly what you're getting at. But that's not a problem when your partner knows what he's doing, is it?” Stylist smiled, looking Tailor up and down suggestively.

“I suppose. Do you know what _you're_ doing?” Tailor asked with an edge to his tone. 

“I've never had any complaints,” He grinned. Tailor rolled his eyes and looked away. “So what, you wanna give this a go?” Stylist moved suddenly, twisting around and kneeling on the sofa, bending over and pointing his ass towards Tailor, he gave it a firm smack. 

“Please,” Tailor drawled in irritation, not even looking up. “Have some dignity.”

“You didn't answer me.” 

“Yes,” Tailor hissed.

“You know, I don't know how to feel about you asking me, of all people,” Stylist got up and approached Tailor, slowly making his way around the table. 

“Why's that?” Tailor eyed him with suspicion, looking him up and down.

“Well it's for either one of two reasons. A; you don't really care for my opinion of you, so you picked me to test out your topping skills cause you don't mind giving me bad sex,” he started, sitting up on Tailor's desk, mighty close to him. “Or B; you just trust me that much, you aren't scared to make a fool of yourself in front of me and you wouldn't let aaanyone else see you when you're not at the top of your game,” he ended with a cheeky little smile. Tailor's face remained deadpan throughout his speech, trying desperately hard not to react. 

Stylist scooted across the table, pushing Tailor's things out of the way and bringing his leg over, so he was sitting directly in front of him with his legs hanging down either side of his chair.

“I'm gonna go with B,” he finished, licking his lips and hunching forwards, taking Tailor's face in his hands so he could kiss him. As unimpressed as he was, Tailor kissed back; he never could resist. His hands made their way to Stylist's thighs, sliding up as far as he dared. Breaking the kiss, Stylist whispered; “what if I come over tonight?” 

“Tonight?” Tailor repeated, sighing softly as his heart rate increased. 

“Plans?”

“No… I can do tonight. But come to the house in France, Beth has friends over for dinner tonight,” Tailor said after a pause, realising how ridiculous that sentence would be if he was speaking to anyone else; anyone without a portal gun.

“Mm, I like that house. Let's do it in the conservatory.”

“You mean that big, see-through, glass room?” Tailor chuckled. 

“Well, it's not as if you're overlooked by neighbours,” Stylist shrugged. 

“Good point.”

And that was that. 

-

Tailor had set up the room for them, he'd pulled out the futon that lived in the conservatory and made their bed with lots of cushions and blankets. It wasn't as though the room was cold, the early evening sun was shining through the glass roof and had a sort of greenhouse effect, so it was warmer than the rest of the house. But the futon was a little lumpy, so he piled the blankets up to make it a little more comfortable for them. The conservatory was complete floor to ceiling glass and looked out onto the patio, and then the garden. The house had a lot of land, and nothing could be seen from all directions, so he wasn't nervous about being seen.

He pulled off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of a nearby armchair, then removed his tie and opened up the top few buttons of his shirt; he was feeling warm. He'd poured himself a glass of whisky and was nursing that as he waited for Stylist to show up. Tailor didn't want to admit that he felt nervous, but he did. He sighed and swept a hand over his hair, sitting down in the armchair and looking out over his garden. The gardeners hadn't been doing a very good job, he noted, some of the bushes out there looked a little overgrown. He'd have to have some words before he headed back to London.

“Look at you, surveying your land with a glass of whisky on the arm of your chair. Where's your pipe and slippers?” Tailor hadn't heard the portal open, perhaps it'd been in another room, but Stylist surprised him a little and his heart was back to thumping. He finished off his whiskey with one gulp and placed the glass on the floor by his feet so it wouldn't get knocked off, then rose to his feet. 

Getting a look at Stylist nearly killed him. He looked hot, seriously hot. He was dressed down in a plain white t-shirt and a pair of acid wash cropped jeans, some hot pink flip-flops. His hair wasn't styled like it normally was. It was brushed messily over to one side and looked damp, like he'd just got out of the shower. Tailor was tempted to call the whole thing off and have him bend him over the arm of this chair and pound his ass until he couldn't remember his own name. 

“You okay?” Stylist asked when he didn't get a greeting, just a long stare. Tailor approached him, unbuttoning his shirt further down until it was totally open; Stylist feasted his eyes on the exposed flesh and quirked a brow with interest. 

Tailor reached him, hooking his fingers in the front of the waistband of Stylist's jeans; he tugged him forwards by his hips and kissed him roughly. The other man groaned in surprise, reaching and holding onto the open edges of Tailor's shirt as his mouth was utterly assaulted. He hadn't been kissed by Tailor with this much fire since the first time they hooked up, and it was off the back of a heated argument. His cock immediately jumped to life in his pants. 

Stylist was pulled towards the bed, and when Tailor broke the kiss to sit down, he immediately climbed on top of him, straddling him. He pulled his own shirt off and dragged a hand through his unruly hair to get it out of his face, he clearly didn't realise how incredible he looked when he did that, but Tailor practically sobbed. Tailor's shirt was completely discarded next, and Stylist ran his hands all over his chest, playing with his nipples and feeling every flex of mildly defined muscle under his skin. Tailor's chest was rising and falling quickly, and his cock was firm where it pressed against Stylist's own bulge. 

“So you wanna fuck me tonight then, hmm?” Stylist whispered, pushing Tailor down onto his back and sliding forwards so his ass was against his cock. He rubbed up against him, getting him used to the idea. He moaned quietly, holding onto Stylist's thighs.

“Y-y-yeah,” He breathed, kicking himself for his stutter. He usually had a decent grip on it. 

Stylist moaned, leaning back with his hands on Tailor's knees, grinding his ass down on his cock, feeling its presence more and more as he worked him up. 

“How'd you like to do it?” He asked, looking him straight in the eye. “You want me on top, like this?” 

Tailor shook his head. “No, I want to be on top.” 

Stylist smirked and turned around, straddling him the opposite way so he could bend over and present his ass to him. “What about doggy style? That way you can push my face in the sheets if I get too loud,” he said playfully, swaying his ass from side to side. 

Tailor sat up, stroking his hands over his ass exploratively. He pulled at the jeans, trying to get them down. Stylist chuckled and helped him out, stripping down to his briefs – real tight, small ones that Tailor'd never seen him in – and settling back down in his lap, looking over his shoulder at him. 

“I-I don't know, I...” Tailor shook his head, bringing his hands around to Stylist's front, touching his bulge and stroking it. He knew what he was doing with that, he wasn't going to embarrass himself. That underwear was far too small to properly contain his erection, and they were tented away from his body, making it easy for Tailor to slip his hand inside. Stylist sighed and leaned back against him, Tailor could feel the dampness of his hair against his shoulder and looked down his body to watch his hand pleasure him. 

“Fuck,” Stylist sighed, his hips swaying forward and back into his hand. Tailor noted his position, him kneeling over his lap, leaning back into his shoulder, it was almost like he was getting a lap dance from him. 

Tailor jerked his cock for a while, but he was stalling and he knew it. He had to stop being a little bitch sooner or later, so eventually he let go of Stylist's cock and took his hips in his hands, rolling him off of him and onto his back beside him on the bed. He climbed into the middle of the futon, positioning himself kneeling between Stylist's legs, who was looking up at him with his legs spread wide and his cock poking out from the top of his briefs. Tailor licked his lips and reached for the waistband; Stylist lifted his legs vertical so that Tailor could pull the briefs all the way down, discarding them behind him. 

Spreading his legs wide again, Stylist gave him a cheeky smirk, revealing what was between his legs. Tailor finally saw it, the base of a butt plug peeking out from behind his balls and striking fear into his heart in a way he hadn't been expecting. In his head he'd expected to be able to ease himself into it, use his fingers on him like he had done a couple of times in the past during blow jobs, he knew what he liked with that. He'd had some practice. But now, he presumed that Stylist had done this with good intentions of making Tailor's life easier, he'd taken care of preparing himself completely, so they could move right into having sex without having to worry about it. If he thought about it long enough, Tailor might even have felt touched, but in the moment he just felt annoyed.

Tailor didn't like surprises. He liked to plan things out and execute them in the way he'd practiced in his head. When anything was changed beyond his control, it threw him off. For some bizarre reason, Tailor felt the creeping, clawing sensation of an oncoming panic attack. What on earth? This was no time for one of those, and what was the point of it? He was having sex! Sure, it was a little different to their usual sex but he knew Stylist, he was comfortable with him every other time they'd been in the bedroom together. What was this?

He cleared his throat for some reason, a distraction of some kind; he wasn't sure if he was trying to distract himself or Stylist. He took a moment, sitting back on his heels and staring down at the space between them on the futon, breathing as steadily as he could through his nose as he began to feel shaky and out of it, like he did when he hadn't eaten in a while. 

“Tailor?” Stylist's voice was soft with concern and he felt his face heat up in embarrassment. 

“Y-you don't mess around, hm? All ready for me,” Tailor said, his voice was quiet and monotonous and he forced himself to look him in the eye. 

“Should I not have done this?” Stylist questioned, sensing that something was amiss. He knew that Tailor had certain quirks, his mind seemed to work a little differently than he expected sometimes. Every now and then he'd say or do something that seemed to bother him, and Stylist felt like he didn't always know him enough to understand why.

“It's fine,” Tailor shook his head, sliding his hand down the inside of Stylist's thigh towards the toy, his fingertips brushing over it before he fondled his balls. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I just need–” Tailor closed his eyes, not seeming to know what to say. Something bad was going on in his head and Stylist didn't have a clue what it was. He sat up, placing his hands on Tailor's thighs and waiting. “I feel anxious.” 

Stylist's brows shot up. He was not expecting him to admit to something like that. 

“Why?” he asked, knowing it was a dumb question.

“I don't know! If I knew, I could stop it.”

“We don't have to do this, baby, don't force yourself.” 

“Or maybe I do know. I know why but it's so silly!” Tailor's brow came down in annoyance and he looked over to the side, out the window.

“It's not silly, whatever it is.”

“It is. It's because the last time I fucked someone like this, I was still married and I thought everything was hunky bloody dory. That's pathetic,” his face was red, and Stylist's pulse quickened at the mention of his wife. Tailor had never gone into detail about how his marriage had ended, but Stylist knew that she had hurt him very deeply with her unfaithfulness.

“What are you scared of, history repeating itself? What happened with your wife happening again just 'cause you do this?” Stylist wasn't a therapist, he was kind of winging it, but he wanted to help.

“No… that wouldn't make sense. Logically I know that's stupid. Logically, I want to do this,” Tailor turned his head back, not looking Stylist in the eye but looking at him.

“Doesn't have to be logical to make you feel like shit.”

They were quiet for a while. Not that it mattered, but Stylist had lost his erection and so had Tailor.

“Maybe I'm… I don't know. Maybe that was the last good thing about my marriage and if I do this, it won't be unique anymore,” Tailor finally said.

“And why's that a bad thing?”

“Is it? I don't know. I guess it's not,” Tailor looked up at him, his eyes a little wider than normal.

“So this is okay, right? You can do this and nothing bad is gonna happen.”

“Yeah but…” 

“Go on.”

“If I can fuck someone like this, and that's not just something I did with her… then what else about that relationship isn't unique? The way I can let someone completely fucking take over my life, my mind?”

“You mean like… Fall in love?” Stylist's lips curled up a little at the edges.

“I mean like give them the potential to fucking destroy me, rip out my soul,” Tailor was speaking through clenched teeth now.

“Yeah, love.” 

“I don't– yeah.” Tailor shook his head, his eyes distant as they stared at the mattress.

“Richard,” Stylist whispered, making Tailor's mouth twitch. “I want you to forget about her for tonight, just think about me. Put all of your attention on me, every bit.”

“Self centred.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I’m more important than her now.” 

“That's not difficult to achieve,” Tailor muttered.

“So don't let her screw up our night,” Stylist wrapped his hand around the back of Tailor's neck, pulling him in gently to kiss him. 

He laid back against the mattress, bringing Tailor with him, he reached for his trousers, unbuttoning them and reaching his hand inside, finding his cock and stroking him back to hardness. It took a little while, his mind was still obviously elsewhere, but soon he was moaning softly and pressing his hips forward. Hearing him and feeling him in his hand was enough to make Stylist's own cock grow again, and he let go of Tailor to push his trousers further down, they were discarded completely with some help. He held onto his ass and pulled him flush to him, Tailor naturally began to grind when their cocks touched, rubbing them together.

“I want you to fuck me,” Stylist broke the kiss and whispered in Tailor's ear, hearing him groan in response. “I don't care if it doesn't work out or it ends up not being your thing, I wanna try.”

“Fuck,” Tailor sighed. Moving and sitting up, kneeling between Stylist's legs again. His face was flushed and his perfectly styled pompadour was loosening up, pieces of hair falling forwards into his face. 

Tailor plucked the bottle of lube he'd left on the arm of the futon sofa and dropped it beside him as he looked back down between Stylist's legs. He didn't give himself enough time to work himself up, he reached for the butt plug and gently rocked it back and forth for a moment, watching Stylist's cock twitch and hearing his shaky breath pick up. He then gently eased it out, watching his tight hole stretch around the widest point. Stylist moaned, seeming to subconsciously grip the toy, like he didn't want it removing. Tailor opened his mouth to tell him; _don't worry, you won't be empty for long_ , or something equally as embarrassing. Luckily he caught his tongue in time. 

The toy glistened with lube where he placed it down on the bed, and Tailor licked his lips as he covered his cock in a generous helping, jerking himself a little more than he needed to to distribute it. 

“Are you ready?” He asked. 

Stylist smiled up at him. “I am. Are you?” 

Tailor paused, then nodded, scooting forwards so their hips were close, he held himself up with his hands either side of Stylist's shoulders. He looked down at him for a moment, seeing the patient warmth in his green eyes, and quickly averted his gaze. He took his cock in his hand, watching as he guided it to Stylist's opening; he moaned even at the sensation of the head of it pressing against him, and he hadn't even penetrated. It was a little tricky – he was tight! – but eventually he managed to get the head in and he gasped, his toes curling at the almost too hot, tight, glorious sensation. 

Stylist bit his lip, humming quietly in satisfaction at his ass being stretched; he let Tailor have his moment but he was itching for more of it, deeper, he wanted to be filled up completely.

It'd been so long since Tailor had fucked someone he'd forgotten what it felt like. He remembered that it felt good, sometimes he found himself missing the way pussy felt, despite barely remembering it. Though, it wasn't worth the hassle, going out and getting some just to remind himself. But never mind that, all Tailor knew was that Stylist's ass felt incredible and he pushed himself deeper, indulging in the way his cock was squeezed and surrounded by delicious, slippery warmth. 

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered, closing his eyes as he buried himself as deep as he could go. Stylist let out a little laugh that wasn't quite girly enough to be a giggle, but it was pretty close. 

Tailor knew right from the start that he was in trouble. It felt too good, too intense, he was going to cum quickly, he just knew it. His cock was used to being stroked by a hand or sucked by a mouth, it didn't get an awful lot of intense stimulation, his ass was where the real action always happened. This was a huge step up from anything his body had grown accustomed to, he told himself there was no shame in it and rather than struggle with this information, he opened his eyes and looked directly at Stylist. He didn't like admitting to things, but since he'd been doing that more often lately, he couldn't deny how much easier it had made things for him. 

“I'm afraid I don't think I'm going to last long,” he started, and Stylist only grinned. “Don't worry, there's a blow job in it for you.” 

“Cum whenever you want, baby, don't hold back on my account. We can do this as many times as you like, you'll have plenty of pr-practice,” he replied in a low, suggestive tone. He didn't sound in the least bit disappointed, or like he was mocking him. 

Tailor immediately felt more confident and pulled his hips back slowly. He tested the water with some slower pushes, getting used to the motion of it. He felt like a bloody virgin again, but he soon fell into a rhythm, it was like riding a bike. He moved his hands to the top of Stylist's thighs, holding onto him so he could drive himself deeper, quicker. Stylist sat up on his elbows, his breaths coming loud and fast as Tailor's cock struck his prostate. 

This might have been a big deal for Tailor, but it was also a big deal for Stylist. He wouldn't deny that he had a special place in his heart for Tailor, he knew that he was a difficult man to get close to and he didn't like to push his luck, but he felt as though he was getting somewhere. Every time Tailor surprised him with a suggestion, or admitted something to him, or let him get away with something that he knew damn well would get other Ricks a scornful response… Tailor took up a little more space in his chest. He didn't live in fantasy land, though, he knew it was very unlikely that they'd end up anything more than what they were now. But that was the thing, Stylist found that he didn't mind. He was content to be whatever Tailor wanted him to be, if it meant he was someone of importance in his life. 

“Fuck, fuck…” Tailor grunted, pounding into him quickly now, his jaw was clenched tightly and his hands were too. Stylist loved it, dropping back down against the futon and crying out loudly, shamelessly, letting Tailor know just how good he felt. His cock was laying against his stomach, drooling precum as his prostate was milked relentlessly. He didn't touch it, not wanting to distract himself from how Tailor felt inside him. He could cum from this alone, anyway, given enough time and encouragement. 

He knew that it wasn't going to happen tonight though, when Tailor's face shifted into that loose, carefree, open mouthed expression of pure pleasure that Stylist always saw when he was about to orgasm.

“Cum inside me, baby. I know you're close. Just do it for me,” Stylist crooned, sliding his hands over his own body, letting Tailor watch him as he dragged his fingers through the precum on his stomach, smearing it before he played with his own nipples.

“Oh God. It feels so fucking good, I don't wanna cum but I'm–” Tailor cut himself off, his eyes scrunching shut and his brow mashing down. He let out a groan that sounded different to his usual orgasms, it was longer, louder, like he had less control over it. His thrusts became rougher and messier, Stylist felt things become wetter and if he hadn't guessed already, he knew for sure Tailor was cumming. Stylist moaned, gratified at the sight and sound of him, knowing he was the one being filled with cum for a change. He almost felt high. 

Tailor made a sound that was almost like a sob and abruptly pulled out, his cock becoming unbearably sensitive very quickly. He was still dripping cum as he did, his body still reeling from waves of pleasure, it was the most intense orgasm he'd had in a long time. His breathing was extremely laboured and he needed more than just a minute to come back down to earth. Stylist was whispering to him, he couldn't hear what he was saying and he didn't ask him to repeat it, but he let him sit up and pepper his chest in kisses. His body was buzzing, the sensation of a tongue against his nipple had his spent cock jumping, pulling a jerky gasp from him. 

“Bend over,” Tailor heard him that time, and grunted in confusion in response. “Bend over for me,” Stylist repeated, withdrawing his legs from either side of him and moving. 

Tailor, still feeling malleable in the afterglow, moved onto all fours as he twisted around to present his ass to Stylist, who was sliding the butt plug back into himself. Tailor cursed under his breath, letting his head hang down between his shoulders, staring at the wet spot they'd left on the blanket. He felt something wet and hot nestling between his ass cheeks and he didn't need much imagination to know what it was. Stylist rutted against him, he wasn't fucking him, but sliding his cock between the cleft of his backside quickly and purposefully. Tailor guessed he wouldn't need to give him that blow job. That was nice, he leaned his chest down against the bed and let Stylist do what he needed to do, listening to his heavy breaths. 

It surprised him how quickly it was all over, he felt like he'd only been fucking him for a minute or two before his own orgasm, he was expecting it to take awhile for Stylist to reach his own peak. He must've lasted longer than he thought, because Stylist only took about thirty seconds to finish messily over his ass. Any other time, Tailor would've been pissed about being used in such a way, and being ejaculated onto like an old sock or something. This time, though, he kind of liked it. Especially when Stylist muttered something complimentary about his ass, then bent down to lap away the cum that had dribbled between his cheeks.

“Fuck, yes,” Tailor sighed, his body going rigid as Stylist tongued his asshole, sending shock waves and tingles all the way down his cock. He'd have to be there for a while to get him hard again, but that wasn't the goal. 

Tailor saw the butt plug being dropped onto the bed next to him again, this time it was streaked with cum – his cum – from being inside Stylist. He certainly wasn't as eager as him to use his tongue, however. He felt the blanket being used to wipe away the rest of the cum on his ass, then he moved, helping Stylist to pull the top, cum-stained blanket off of the bed and toss it on the floor along with the butt plug. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of leaving it there to fester, but he tried to push it out of his mind. He was knackered. 

“I hope to God you liked that so we can do it again,” Stylist sighed as he laid down on his front, bending his knee and hiking his leg up so his upper body was turned a little. He peered back at Tailor where he was sitting cross-legged on the other end of the bed. Tailor glanced at him, letting his eyes trail down to the curve of his ass and where he could see his balls peeking out. 

Tailor laid down next to him, on his back and staring through the glass roof. It was almost totally dark outside now.

“Did it look like I liked it?” He asked. 

Stylist took a breath. He wanted to reach out and touch him, rest his head on his chest or something, but he didn't. “Yeah, it did.” 

“So you needn't worry,” Tailor shrugged, something close to a smile on the edge of his mouth. 

“Okay. Fuck me again tonight?”

It caught Tailor off guard and he snorted. How unflattering. “Again?”

“Yeah.” 

“I don't know, let me rest.”

“Alright,” he said, scooting closer to Tailor and kissing his shoulder. Tailor looked at him from the corner of his eye. He felt like he should say something else, or Stylist should. He didn't know what, but it felt like there was something hanging in the air other than the smell of sex. Stylist felt it too.

“Richard, I think I lo-” 

“Not that.” Tailor interrupted Stylist, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

“Huh?”

“If you're going to speak, say something else.”

Stylist sighed, kissing his shoulder again. So, not yet. He'd gone in too soon. That was okay. 

“Richard?” Stylist started, Tailor hummed in acknowledgement, though there was a warning to the sound. “Do you mind me calling you Richard?” 

After a pause, Tailor shook his head. “You can call me that. When we're alone.”

Stylist smiled and brushed his hand up and down Tailor's arm affectionately.

“Is there anything you'd like to be called?” Tailor asked, he'd never given it much thought. He never really used his name, but he wouldn't mind some sort of distinction from other Ricks.

“Daddy,” He said without a pause, and Tailor nearly picked up a pillow to smother him with. He rolled over onto his side, showing his back to him. Stylist laughed and scooted up behind him, using the opportunity to spoon him. 

“Get off,” Tailor grumbled. 

“You can call me what you want, I'm not picky,” 

“‘Annoying Hairdresser’ is too much of a mouthful.”

“Last time I checked, you didn't mind having a mouthful of me,” Stylist said cheekily, sliding his hand down Tailor's front, playing with his groomed pubic hair. “Just keep calling me Rick, if you want any chance of me responding. Though, sweetie could work too. Or darling. I like the way you say that.”

Tailor grunted in response. 

“I'm going to the bathroom, want me to get you a drink or something while I'm up?” Stylist pushed away from Tailor, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I'm okay, thank you,” Tailor murmured, feeling the mattress shift as he got up and left. Tailor immediately felt cold now that the sun had gone down and he didn't have Stylist's body heat. 

He pretended that was why he wanted him to come back quickly.


	28. Nearly Caught: I.C/reader NSFW

We were hanging out at my house. Well, my parents’ house. They weren't home, however, having dinner with the next-door neighbours; I'd been invited too, but I'd faked a migraine (karma would get me for that one at some point, probably in the shape of a real one) so I could stay in and invite Rick over. We took any shred of opportunity we could to see each other and have some privacy. It was getting bad, we couldn't afford to keep shelling out for hotel rooms, and his ice cream truck had seen more action than a brothel at this point. But it was easy to forget all of that when we were together, alone. It was easy to forget pretty much anything then. 

We were in the kitchen, we were going to cook something together and have a little meal of our own, but we'd got as far as peeling two potatoes before we abandoned that idea in favour of sucking each other’s faces. He'd told me about a dream he'd had the previous night, one where we were living together in his childhood home, but all the furniture was mixed up in different rooms. It was innocent enough, he was only telling me ‘cause he thought it was a strange dream, but I was hung up on him mentioning us living together, so I'd put down my potato peeler and silenced him with a kiss. 

He didn't put up a fight, immediately wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me tightly into his chest. His little beard always tickled my chin and my fingers found their usual place in his wavy hair. I could tell it was freshly washed, it felt soft and I caught a whiff of his shampoo when I came close to him. He hummed softly against my lips, easing me off of him for a moment so he could speak. 

“Aren't you hungry?” 

“Not for tortilla de, uhh…” I tried, forgetting what he'd called it. 

“Tortilla de patatas,” he finished with perfect pronunciation.

“Spanish omelettes,” I shrugged, smirking at him. “I want you.” 

“But the potatoes,” his eyes drifted to the side, where they sat waiting on the counter.

“They can wait,” I shrugged. 

He immediately kissed me again, seeming to snap up the opportunity. I arched into him, pressing my breasts against his chest firmly and hearing him moan. One of his hands moved down, cupping and fondling my ass; his touch sent my hips forward, and I unconsciously rubbed up against him. He parted away for air, cursing quietly under his breath. When he kissed me again, he pinned me against the counter with his hips, grinding into me. I could feel the beginnings of his arousal, practically wearing a hole in our clothes with his movements. I was flooded with warmth, my pussy tingling and engorging, making me moan. 

Rick broke the kiss again and instead pressed our foreheads together so he could hold my gaze. He grabbed around to find the hem of my skirt, hiking it up and slipping his hand underneath, his fingers finding the seat of my panties where he rubbed me.

“Ohhhh, Rick,” I sighed, my eyes drifting closed. “In the kitchen?” I asked, almost in disbelief.

“Ca-can I fuck you here?” He asked in a breathy, aroused tone, his voice cracking just a little at the end. His fingers reached my clit, rubbing it briskly through my panties. A high pitched whine left me and I was sighing my agreement almost pleadingly. 

My hands were shaky as I reached for his fly, unfastening it quickly and sliding my hand inside, bypassing his boxers and wrapping my hand around his cock. I stroked him at a moderate pace, feeling him harden completely in my hand, him moaning, all whiny, in my ear the whole time. 

We pleasured each other for a little while, just until Rick put his hand inside my panties, ran his fingers through my folds and felt how wet I was. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, withdrawing his hand, leaning back from me and looking me in the eye as he licked his fingers. “I need this,” he said, and I nodded eagerly.

I let go of his cock as he turned me around, flipping my skirt up at the back to expose my backside to him. He hooked his fingers in my panties, tugging them down just enough, they stayed taut around my lower thighs, keeping my legs pretty close together. He had just enough room to slide his cock between them, rubbing the head against my slit. His breath was shaky and loud behind me, but he seemed to hold it as he entered me. I gasped as he filled me, hands gripping the edge of the counter. My eyes went out of focus as I stared out of the window to the backyard. The breath Rick'd been holding came out as a groan, his hands forming a crushing grip around my hips. 

He guided me back and forth, bouncing me on his cock like he was in a frenzy. He fucked me fast, right from the get go, and the sheer intensity of the pleasure I felt had me crying out, knees threatening to buckle. My grip on the counter, and Rick's hands, were the only things keeping me upright. His cock felt so incredible inside me, in this position he hit my sweet spot perfectly and I could feel that I was far wetter than I usually was. Maybe being in my parents’ kitchen had something to do with it, who knows? I allowed myself to moan freely, not holding anything back, sighing his name and singing his praises, telling him how good he felt, how I loved him, how I wanted to cum with his cock in me like this, right here in the kitchen. 

He liked that. 

“Right here, huh?” He panted, leaning close to my ear. I could just about catch his reflection in the window and I watched him. “You're a- a dirty girl, aren't you?”

“For you,” I told him, clenching my pussy around his cock and making him growl in response. 

“We're cooking dinner right there, you just love that I'm fucking you here, don't you?” I glanced down at the half peeled potatoes right in front of me and almost laughed. 

“I do!” 

“So bad. Su-such a dirty girl, you gonna cum for me? Squeeze my cock real tight, huh?” His voice was wavering now, he was close. 

“Oh yeah, I'm gonna cum!” I cried, my voice going high pitched and loud. 

Rick stopped suddenly, and I whined in disappointment. 

“Why did you st-” I started, only to hear the front door slam, confirming what Rick must've thought he heard. He cursed and pulled out of me, the sensation of the thick head of his cock slipping out of me making me whimper. 

I could hear my parents’ voices down the hall and the gravity of what was happening hit me, I fumbled for my knickers but Rick beat me to it, pulling them up for me and rearranging my skirt so I was all covered up again. He sidestepped to come next to me as he zipped away his throbbing cock, God knows where he was going to put it. 

“Well, that was a total waste of time,” my mother was saying as she wandered into the kitchen. “Sandra's caught a stomach bug, apparently doesn't know which end it's going to come out of. They could've called and told us earlier. Oh, hello Rick.”

Without turning his body, Rick looked over his shoulder to greet my mother. I gave my hands a wash in the sink nearby before carrying on with peeling the potatoes like nothing ever happened. My hands felt like jelly so I had to be very careful not to cut myself. 

“H-hi, I'm sorry to hear about your plans,” he said to her, his tone sympathetic but I could hear the edge to it. 

“Oh, it's quite alright. We've decided we'll go out to eat, so the evening isn't a total waste. How's your migraine, dear?” She asked me. 

“Still hurts, but I'm managing. Rick's teaching me how to make Spanish omelettes. He says having a good meal should help my head.” 

“Well, I'll leave you two to it. Your father's just changing his shirt to something a little smarter, then we'll be off.” 

I heard her retreat, her footsteps disappearing out of the room. I sighed heavily and dropped the potato peeler again, glancing up at Rick. He didn't say anything, he just held my gaze with an intensity I couldn't look away from. I searched my brain for something to say, but I didn't really need to. I think we both had the exact same thought. 

We couldn't keep sneaking around like teenagers for much longer.


	29. And They All Lived... (Tailor/Hairstylist, Diane's Return)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/comfort angst with happy ending, warning for mentions of suicidal thoughts.

Tailor heard multiple voices coming from the kitchen. He knew that Beth was home, but Morty and Summer were both at school, and Jerry was up in his office pretending to work. Beth must've invited a friend over, Tailor's face twisted in a grimace, he didn't like guests that weren't his. He especially didn't like it when he wasn't informed before people were invited over, it was his house, damn it. He turned on his heel and headed back upstairs briefly to change out of his dressing gown and into something more presentable, all hope of having a lazy pyjama day scuppered. But, he still needed his coffee, which meant entering the kitchen and interacting with whoever it was. 

Sliding quietly through the kitchen door he hoped to stealth-pour his mug of coffee without distracting them from Beth's fascinating recount of Morty's last birthday party. With his back to them, he retrieved his favourite mug from the mug tree, listening to Beth tell her guest about the birthday cake and how we'd been sent the wrong one by the bakery. A sound hit his ears then, one he hadn't heard in a long, long time, and one that immediately sent the blood rushing to his head, his heart pounding and a cool spike of something highly unpleasant thrumming under his skin. 

A laugh. His ex-wife's laugh. 

If he was any more dramatic of a man, he'd have dropped the mug. He settled for slamming it down on the marble counter before spinning around to confirm his suspicion. There she was, as blond and tall and narrow and… pretty, as the day they'd settled the divorce. There were a few more lines in her face now, but she looked just the damn same. Tailor felt light-headed and could do nothing but stare, expressionless, as Diane met his eyes. 

“Richard,” she smiled, that smarmy little smile she'd always throw at men.

“Dad!” Beth said in surprise, finally realising that he was in the room. “I was going to come and find you–”

“No.” Tailor cut her off, shaking his head. “No,” He turned for the doorway, marching right through it. Beth followed him, uttering something to Diane before she did.

“Dad! Hold on,” he caught his wrist, halting him in the hallway. “I was going to tell you, I didn't know you were up.” 

“What the hell is she doing in my house?” Tailor leaned into her face, hissing at her, spit flying. She flinched and her brows curved with hurt. 

“I've been emailing her for a couple of months now, I want to reconnect,” she explained, and Tailor shook his head at her with a slack jaw. His whole body felt strange, pressurised, like his blood was trying to force its way out of him through his pores. It almost hurt.

“And you did-didn't think to tell me about this sooner?” He raised his voice, feeling his eye begin to twitch. He rubbed at it and sighed heavily, trying to get a grip on himself before he had a heart attack. 

“I knew you'd try to stop me.”

“You think that? I'm not going to try and stop you, sweetie, she's your mother. I jus- I just don't want any part of it. I don't wanna hear about it, I don't want to know about it, I certainly don't want her here!” He jabbed a finger at the floor. 

“Shh, she can hear you!”

Purposely raising his voice, Tailor responded; “I don't give a _fuck_ if she can hear me.”

“I thought you could talk it out, maybe move past–”

“Are you _insane_?” Tailor seethed, clutching at the sides of his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. “I wouldn't piss on that woman if she was on fire. I have absolutely no interest in seeing her ever again, if she dropped dead in front of us right now, I'd step over her fresh corpse just to make my fucking coffee. Do- do you understand me, sweetheart?” 

“Dad,” Beth's eyes welled, her voice wobbly. 

“Get her out.”

“No!”

“Fine. I'm leaving. Let me know when she's fucked off again, just like she did thirty-odd years ago.” Tailor turned and yanked his coat off the hook by the front door. 

“Just calm down and stay! Talk to her just a little, ten minutes!”

“Beth. You were young when we had the divorce, I don't expect you to understand anything about it. But what you're asking me, I ju-just cannot do it.” Tailor shook his head, shrugging on his coat. 

“For me?” 

“What about for me, huh? J-j-j–” Tailor sighed and closed his eyes for a second, biting his tongue as a punishment for not fucking working. “Just think about me. How I feel. I haven't seen her in _years_.”

“I wanted to warn you,” Beth was crying now, as she spoke to him apologetically. Tailor didn't have it in him to feel guilty about it, not right then.

“Text me when she's gone.” 

He let himself out, slamming the door behind him. Diane's car was parked behind his on the drive. He considered for a few seconds, putting his foot into the side of it, but decided against it. He opted to go for a walk instead, just wanting to put as much distance between himself and the house – or rather who was in it – as he could. 

Ten minutes away from home, his body began to feel more normal. His eye wasn't twitching. His heart wasn't squeezing in a way that made him wonder if he was dying. His bloodstream didn't feel as though it was filled with ice. But, he did feel something. Nausea, exhaustion, a hollowness in the pit of his stomach. It felt like betrayal. His own daughter had fucked him over in the worst possible way. Of course, he couldn't exactly blame her for wanting to rekindle her relationship with her mother, or for thinking he and Diane might be civil. She had been far too young to understand why their relationship crumbled, and it wasn't something Tailor had spoken to her about once she was. 

He had not been prepared to see her again. He didn't think he ever could be prepared for that; even if Beth had told him he wouldn't have been able to stomach meeting her again. Diane was a big gaping wound in his heart, his mind, his life. He was fully aware of how his relationship with her had warped him, the effects still evident all these years later. He hadn't been right since, a therapist would have a field day with him if he ever bothered to go. How on earth could he consider letting _that_ back into his life? Even just for a minute?

But of course, he was the villain in Beth's eyes. The grumpy bastard not wanting to make his precious girl smile by speaking to mummy for a few minutes. Tailor's lip curled in disgust. He wished he had told her every little detail, looked up all the blokes she'd shagged on Facebook to show her, tell her how she knew most of them through him. Tell her about how she'd do it in their bed, never change the sheets after either, how she'd indulged in telling him on the day of their divorce that she'd use his pillow to clean herself up with sometimes. How she'd let him fuck her barely half an hour after the other guy. How she cheated on him even on the day of his father's funeral. How she was literal scum and he wished he'd portaled her out into the vacuum of space the day he found out. 

Tailor's throat ached with his efforts to hold back a sob. He was in the middle of the bloody street, he could not cry here. But his name was replaying in his head in her voice. _Richard_. He'd just about gotten used to Rick calling him that, replacing her with him in his memory, associating that name with something good. And now it was ruined. He needed to hear Rick call him that again, over and over, scrub that woman's voice from his head once more. He reached into his inside pocket, retrieving his portal gun. It was set for the barber's already from the last time he'd used it, so all he had to do was fire it and step through and he was in another place entirely. 

When he arrived, Stylist Rick was cutting around a bowl atop the head of some Rick. He couldn't stop himself from remarking; “a bowl? I thought you knew how to cut hair professionally.”

“Huh? Oh. I know right? I did try to talk him out of it. He brought the bowl from home,” Stylist snorted, not even flinching at Tailor's arrival. In fact, he didn't even look at him. Tailor wasn't sure whether he enjoyed how routine their meetings had become, how mundane his presence had become for his partner. He frowned and crossed his arms, waiting. 

“I-i-it's the only way to get it to look right,” the other Rick whined, like he was tired of explaining himself. Truthfully, Tailor couldn't care less.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Stylist finally asked, glancing over at Tailor. 

Their eyes met, and immediately Stylist spotted the look in Tailor's, the troubled, pained, unsure look that he'd always try and fail to hide whenever he had something on his mind. This time, though, it was different. His eyes were wet, his face was a little blotchy with pink spots high on his cheeks, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a tense sort of grimace. He looked as if he was about to burst into tears, and for a moment, Stylist didn't know what to do. 

“Uhh, d-do you want to go up to the apartment? I'm almost done here, I can close up for a little while,” he suggested softly after a few moments of just staring at him, wondering how he was managing to hold it together; Stylist knew that he personally could never hold back when he was going to cry. 

“Wh-who's up there?” Tailor asked, his voice sounding different, less sure and firm as it usually was. 

“Nobody. Place is empty, you wanna let yourself in? I'll be like, five minutes,” Stylist glanced at the Rick in his chair, who was looking between the two of them through the mirror, a quizzical look in his misaligned eyes. 

Tailor nodded, and Stylist approached him, fishing the keys out of his pocket as he did. He pressed the keys into Tailor's hand, holding them there for a few seconds so he could take a good look in his eyes. Tailor stared off to the side, refusing to make eye contact so close. He pulled away quickly when Stylist pressed a kiss to his temple, marching off towards the back door of the barber shop that led to an elevator. He took it up to the penthouse that Stylist lived in and prepared himself for the assault on his eyes that was his choice in interior design as he let himself in.

Everything was either black, white, or hot pink. It was glamorous and expensive looking, whilst still managing to maintain an air of tackiness. It didn't faze him on this occasion, though, and Tailor simply crossed the room to sit on the white leather sofa, leaning his head back with a sigh. At least nobody was around to look at him, here. He didn't know why he felt so close to tears, he'd only seen her for a moment, only heard her say one word, she hadn't really done anything but stand there looking at him. That shouldn't hurt him as deeply as it did. It wasn't like he was still in love with her, he hated her guts. 

But it'd taken him by surprise, jarred him to his bones, shaken him up more than the one time he'd accidentally put the sewing machine needle through his thumb. Hurt about as much, too. Tailor cried more often than he'd like to admit, when he'd drank too much, thought too much, been alone for too long. Half the time he cried he didn't really know why he was doing it, this time wasn't much different. He knew that cow had something to do with it, but the specifics, he was clueless. He wished he could've just walked away from her without feeling anything, he wished she didn't have so much power over his emotions, he wished she was the one in agony over seeing him again. She hadn't even flinched. 

Tailor let himself cry, leaning forwards, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It was so quiet in the room that he felt embarrassed about the amplified sounds of his pathetic sniffles and sobs. He took a few minutes like that, though, trying to get it out of his system before Stylist came up so he could try and brush it all off and sleep with him. Let him take his mind off it. He was good at that; when they hooked up he took up enough space in his head that there wasn't much room for anything else. That was probably why Tailor kept coming back to him.

The ping of the elevator announced Stylist's arrival, much sooner than anticipated. Tailor sat up, sniffing and dragging his hands over his face in a futile attempt at composing himself. When Stylist approached, pulling off his t-shirt, Tailor thought he'd gotten away with it somehow and this would go on like one of their usual meetings, getting down to business right away. But then Stylist was redressing himself in a different shirt tossed over the back of the sofa, and it became clear that it wasn't the case. 

“Covered in hair; itchy,” he explained briefly, staring at Tailor the entire time. “You want something to drink, coffee?”

“I know it's early, but do you have any whisky?” 

“Is my name Rick Sanchez?” Stylist snorted, heading for the kitchen. The place was open plan, and Tailor heard the clinking of glass and the slosh of liquid as he poured his drink. He came back around to the sofa, handing him a half-filled tumbler and sitting down beside him. 

Tailor could feel him staring as he took a drink, and he knew the questions would come soon. He knew for sure Stylist could tell that he'd been in tears. He placed his glass down on the coffee table, sliding a sliced agate coaster underneath, resisting the temptation to down the whole drink in one. A hand touched his chin, turning his head. Stylist ran his thumb back and forth over his cheek, studying him. _Here it comes._

“You haven't shaved,” the observation surprised Tailor. His brows raised. 

“No. I left in rather a rush this morning,” he explained. 

“A little stubble looks good on you.” 

“Does it fuck. I look like a scruffy bastard.” 

Stylist smiled a little. He leaned in, kissing the corner of Tailor's mouth, stroking his hand up and down his arm. Tailor closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close so that he'd continue to kiss, moving his attention to his neck. His mind was already fogging over, and he felt his heart swell with affection; a rare occurrence. Stylist's lips paused by his earlobe.

“You wanna tell me why you've been crying up here?” he whispered.

_Ahh, shit._ Tailor sighed and let his arms drop. 

“I had a bit of a shock this morning. I'd rather forget about it.”

“I'd rather you tell me, you look terrible,” Stylist leaned back and looked at him. 

“Thank you.” 

“Emotionally. Physically, you look as good as always,” he clarified. A little flattery never hurt. “What happened, is everything okay? Your family's alright?” 

“My family is fine. Nobody's died, if that's what you're getting at,” Tailor stated drily. “Though, if that's what you were expecting, it's going to be all rather anticlimactic if you get the truth out of me.” 

“I intend to do just that. It'd be easier for us both if you just spit it out, anticlimactic or not. Don't worry about disappointing me, it's not gossip I want.”

“What do you want?” Tailor cocked a brow.

“To see you smiling, not looking like you're on the verge of a m-mental breakdown,” Stylist's brow arched in concern and Tailor sighed.

“Well, Diane was in my kitchen when I woke up today,” he told him, almost downplaying it with his tone. 

“Oh.” 

“Oh?”

“I don't exactly know how to react. I understand that you're not on good terms with her, what happened?” Stylist winced a little.

“Nothing happened, she was just there,” Tailor was getting irritable now.

“And that's what you're upset about?” 

“I told you it'd be anticlimactic. You can tell me I'm being a big girl's blouse,” Tailor rolled his eyes dramatically and Stylist shook his head, scooting closer to him on the couch.

“I wasn't insinuating that you're weak. I'm just trying to understand the situation. You haven't told me much about your ex-wife. All I know is that she cheated and you had a divorce.”

“She cheated, yes. More times than I can count on both hands. She hurt me more than anyone ever has, she metaphorically ripped out my heart and spat on it. I've never loved anyone like I loved her, d-do you understand? She was everything to me. When she did that to me, I can't tell you the number of times I thought about- about–” Tailor stopped and shook his head, feeling the tears coming again. He rubbed at his eyes.

“Thought about what?” Stylist leaned forwards, putting a hand on his thigh. 

“If I'd have told anyone about the thoughts I was having, they'd have had me sectioned. I've never mentioned it to anybody. I was in such a terrible place back then, it took everything in me to dig myself out. I can just about say I'm over it, b-b-but then I see her out of the blue and I suddenly realise that I'm really not. I'm not over it, am I?” Tailor finally looked Stylist in the eye, his were all bloodshot and puffy and Stylist's chest ached seeing him that way. Without hesitation, he pulled Tailor into his chest. 

“Richard,” the word gained a violent sob, and Stylist stroked his hand over the back of his head softly. “Please don't do anything–”

“I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'm not going to off myself over her, I haven't thought about that in years.” Tailor hissed in annoyance, though he pressed himself closer to him.

“Thank God. You're worrying me,” Stylist's voice wobbled nervously.

“I-I-I just know that I've been acting like- like–” He sniffed loudly and started again. “I haven't been able to get it out of the back of my mind for my whole life. I keep telling myself I do the things that I do because it's my choice, but it's really not.”

“What things? Talk to me, I want to know all of it.” Stylist clutched him ever tighter, and for the first time – with his face buried in his chest – Tailor felt like he could be honest.

“I drink, I sleep around, I treat people like crap. I'm not saying that I ca-can't help all those things, but I know I only do it because I'm scared of being– I just don't want it to happen again. I don't want to feel like I did back then because I got t-too close to somebody.”

Stylist was impressed with how self aware he was. He knew that what he was saying was true, but he hadn't known that Tailor knew too. He kept quiet, though, letting him say his piece. 

“I do it to you,” Tailor exclaimed, shifting so he could look up at him. 

“What?” Stylist's eyes widened. 

“I act like you're nothing, a-a-and that I merely put up with you. But I– you're–” he shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

“It's okay,” Stylist whispered, cupping Tailor's face in his hands.

“It's not!”

“I understand,” he closed his eyes, feeling something in his gut. He couldn't tell if it was good or bad, but his adrenaline was pumping now. “You don't have to say anything.”

“I want to. I wish I could just say what I feel without feeling like I'm s-si-signing my own death certificate.”

“All I want from you is your presence in my life,” Stylist told him, pressing their foreheads together. “And I want you to be happy, Richard.”

“You make me happy,” he admitted, and Stylist's heart thumped heavily in his chest. 

Stylist said it. He didn't give Tailor the chance to stop him. It needed to be said. 

“I love you.” 

Tailor seemed to deflate a little in his arms, his muscles loosening. 

“I know.” Tailor's words weren't arrogant, he didn't mean it like that. They were accepting. Stylist felt like that would be the closest thing to reciprocation that he'd hear all night; he was wrong. “I know the feeling.” 

Everything went silent, Stylist's mind went blank. Tailor kissed him, and he could taste the salt in his tears that had rolled to his lips. 

“I love you,” Stylist repeated, and Tailor nodded in response, kissing him again. It felt good being able to say it without being reprimanded. He wanted to say it again, but it came out muffled behind his mouth. He expected Tailor to escalate things, try to remove his clothes or something – and truthfully he wouldn't object – but he didn't. He broke the kiss and leaned into him, hugging him more tightly than he ever had before. Stylist felt like if he woke up and all of this was a dream, he wouldn't be able to stand it. 

“Say my name,” Tailor whispered.

“Richard.”

“You're the only one who gets to call me that,” that's all Stylist needed to hear.

“Just know that I'm yours, if you want me,” he told him. Tailor pulled back and gripped the front of Stylist's shirt, looking up at him. 

“I do want you.”

“Then that works out quite nicely, doesn't it?” Stylist smiled.

“I can't promise I'm going to be perfect. I can't even promise I'll be alright. But I want to move on, I'm sick of trying so hard all of the time and still being miserable.”

“That's your problem. You just don't let yourself be happy, do you?”

Tailor shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, looking down at the other man's chest. 

“Have you ever thought about speaking to someone?” Stylist asked, keeping his tone light.

“A councellor? Oh, of course. I've thought about it.”

“Maybe you should do it.” 

“I know that I absolutely should,” Tailor let out a humourless laugh. “I've just been putting it off for the last thirty or so years.” 

“Maybe it'll help. It helped me when I needed it,” Stylist told him, Tailor looked at him as though he wanted to ask him about it. But this wasn't about Stylist. “You should do it for yourself, work through all this. You deserve to live without it hanging over you.” 

Tailor nodded, closing his eyes and dragging his sleeves across them. 

“Tackle that, and you'll be telling me how much you love me every single day. I won't be able to shut you up, just wait and see.” 

“Of course,” Tailor muttered, allowing a small laugh to escape him. Stylist pulled him into his chest again, leaning back against the sofa.

He couldn't put into words how it felt to finally be able to hold Tailor like this, without feeling him pull away, without any underlying tension, without him being blissfully unaware in his sleep. Stylist stroked his hair, allowing his hand to trace down to the curve of his neck before returning to the crown of his head, over and over. Tailor's face felt wet where it was pressed into his collar, but they weren't fresh tears anymore. He wanted to stay there, let the moment stretch on for as long as Tailor would let it, and he planned to. But Tailor wasn't going to change over night. He wasn't suddenly going to be writing love letters and serenading him. He fidgeted, making to break away from him; and Stylist loosened his grip. 

Tailor rubbed his face, sucking in a jagged, post-cry breath, before picking up his whisky and finishing it off. He didn't flinch when Stylist stroked his hand up his spine and squeezed his shoulder. He looked back at him and offered a small, awkward smile. For a moment, Stylist's heart dropped, waiting for him to regain his stiff upper lip and leave. 

“Thank you,” Tailor told him softly. 

Stylist shook his head. “No need to thank me.”

“I really do… care about you,” Tailor said, letting his eyes drop to his chest. “I enjoy your company far more than anybody else's, I hope that says enough.” 

Stylist smiled, nodding his head and massaging Tailor's shoulder a little. 

“I hope that one day I'm able to offer something more than that, but for now,” Tailor trailed off with a sigh, turning back to the coffee table to place his glass down. 

“I can see what you want to say, you're not a difficult man to read. You can be a confusing one, but no matter how hard you try to mask things, people notice.”

“You can wipe that arrogant smirk off your face,” Tailor grumbled. 

“You aren't even looking at me.”

“No, but I know it's there.”

Stylist snorted, sitting up and leaning over Tailor's shoulder so that he could kiss his cheek. The stubble against his lips felt coarse, something he wasn't used to. As much as he liked the look of it, the texture wasn't so great. 

“Hmm, you want me to shave that for you?” 

“I thought you liked it,” Tailor glanced over his shoulder.

“I do. But I'd also like to show off my skill with a straight razor. Besides, a lot of people find it relaxing, getting a professional shave.”

“Having someone wave a blade around in your face? Yes, very relaxing,” Tailor tutted.

“You trust me, don't you? I'll give you a five star treatment.”

“Alright, as long as you don't Sweeney Todd me,” Tailor sighed softly.

“Don't worry, I have a very steady hand. I've only slit one throat, and that was years ago,” he grinned. “Come on, baby. I'll start heating up some towels for that pretty face.”


	30. ... Happily Ever After (I.C/reader)

Our relationship had always been one prone to moving quickly. After meeting I.C at RickCon, he and I fell hard for each other in only a matter of weeks, I had been completely smitten within a month of knowing him and by the way he treated me I could only assume he felt the same way. We never really slowed down, our love for each other gaining momentum until neither one of us could imagine being without the other, and spending nights apart was becoming damn near painful. I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, I wanted to live with him. So when I heard that he had been looking at houses without telling me, I felt odd. Not knowing whether it was safe to get my hopes up, I confronted him.

“Are you moving out?” I asked him outright. A weird mix of confusion, hopefulness, but not wanting to get ahead of myself, filling me completely; I'd been unable to think about much else since I had heard.

I.C’s head snapped towards me from his mixing bowl. We were downstairs in his ice cream lab and he was mixing up a new flavour, putting together drops of syrups, ground up, dried ingredients fresh from the mortar and pestle, stirring them into a pink paste in his bowl. He stopped moving when I'd asked him, though, hands pausing mid stir. 

“I spoke to Beth earlier on, when you were down here. She mentioned you'd been looking at houses, she only said it as a throw away thing… it looked like she didn't mean to. She went all red when I asked what she was on about.” 

“She did? Huh,” I.C was frowning, looking extremely confused. His expression so extreme that I questioned it's sincerity. “I don't know why she'd say that.”

“You weren't looking at houses? She said you were looking online.” 

“Uhhhh,” he scratched his head, puffed some air through his lips and looked up at the ceiling. “I don't…” he trailed off, shaking his head. He looked stumped. 

“Rick?” I cocked my brow at him. 

“Yeah?” He glanced at me hopefully. 

“You're being weird,” I smiled a little strangely at him.

“Am I ever not weird?” He chuckled. 

I leaned against the counter and tilted my head expectantly. He scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing loudly and finishing it off with a little groan. 

“I didn't want to say anything just yet,” he begrudgingly admitted. “I really didn't want to say anything until I had it all figured out.”

“Well you have to say something now!” I exclaimed, chuckling. 

“I've been looking into this for a little while, just feeling things out, you know? Nothing serious. I just wanted to…” he trailed off again and looked at me. I waited quite a while before he spoke again. “I was thinking that we should– or we _could_ start looking for, uh, for somewhere we could live together.” 

“Huh?” My response was so stupid sounding I wanted to punch myself. It wasn't as if I wasn't expecting it.

“We don't have to. It's just, it's been getting so hard not having our own space. W-w-we're always worrying about someone coming home or knocking on the door or whatever. It'd be so good to just be alone and have our privacy, don't you think?” 

“Oh god, yeah it would be. I know what you're saying.”

“So is that a yes?” He beamed hopefully, only a hint of nervousness behind his smile. He knew just as well as I did that we were headed this way, it was an obvious unspoken fact that we both wanted this.

“Of course!” I matched his smile and he turned to me, going in for a hug. I stopped him with my words, and his hands settled on my waist instead. “But I have some questions,” I pursed my lips, frowning in thought. 

“Hold onto them,” he held a finger up to me before whipping off his apron and putting his bowl away in a fridge under his desk. “I had a plan, I w-was gonna take you somewhere I think you'll love, and make it all romantic before I asked you. We could still go, talk things out there?”

“Oh! Really? You were gonna be all romantic?” I smiled, my heart warming as much as my cheeks. 

“You know me, Casanova o-over here,” he smirked, pulling his portal gun out of his pocket. “Uhh, you have any hiking boots?”

“Hiking boots? Sure, at home,” I gave him an odd look, intrigued.

“We'll stop there along the way,” he grinned, shooting a portal at the wall.

-

When we stepped through the portal after stopping to change my shoes, Rick insisted that he cover up my eyes. He'd handed me a bag full of snacks, and I gripped onto it like a safety harness as I stepped into the unknown. I trusted him with my life, but it was still rather nerve-wracking, especially when my foot met uneven, ragged feeling ground. I was standing on sharp outcrops, I could feel that much through the thick soles of my boots and was grateful for Rick's suggestion to change my shoes. 

“You okay sweetheart?” He asked me, standing close with his warm palms cupping over my eyes ever so gently. 

“This place isn't scary, is it?”

“I hope not. I don't think you'll find it scary. Are you ready?”

“I am.” 

“Alright, 3, 2, 1…” he lifted his hands from my eyes and I blinked a couple of times. My eyes quickly adjusted, and I gasped. 

Rick had taken me to what could only be described as a giant crystal. The entire ground as far as the eye could see was covered in glistening points of lavender coloured rock, all of varying sizes. Some points were taller than us, cropping straight up to the sky, some with smaller points growing out from the base, sparkling beautifully. The ground below our feet was covered in tiny crystals, some coming loose, scattered around like pebbles on a driveway. I felt the urge to pick one up as a keepsake, but I resisted.

“What do you think?” Rick stepped around to stand beside me, studying my face.

“I've never seen anything like it. This is incredible! What is it, amethyst?” 

“Yep. At least, something close to it. This whole planet is like it, it's essentially a giant inside out geode,” he grinned, letting his eyes roam the scenery. 

“How did you find this place? It's absolutely beautiful!” I was flabbergasted, my eyes drying out because I had to remind myself to blink.

“I had some help. I went to a dimension of magpie people,” he started, taking a soft breath.

“They helped you? They really do like shiny things,” I chuckled.

“Not exactly, I went there with the intention of asking for their help, but… turns out it's highly offensive to ask a magpie person about shiny things,” 

“Are you pulling my leg?” I finally pulled my eyes away from the scenery to look at him.

“I wish I was! It's a terrible stereotype, they're seriously sensitive about it, apparently,” he shrugged. 

“Huh,” I cocked a brow in surprise.

“So instead I asked an old friend of mine, Rick J19-Zeta-7. He knows a lot about geology, he told me about this place,” he held his hand out to me, and I took it in mine. “Careful where you put your feet, baby, I don't want you rolling an ankle.”

Rick led me on a trail through the large crystal points around us. It was like a trail through a forest, and I wondered how many beings had been there before, walking that very path. The crystals under foot were shinier than the rest, as if they'd been polished by the feet of visitors. 

After a while we broke off the trail, stepping between two large clusters; tall points with smaller terminations covering the sides of it. I ran my hand over one as we passed, feeling the sharp edges against my skin, not sharp enough to cut but definitely pointy. We found ourselves in a little clearing with some thicker, shorter points, coming out of the ground at such an angle that there were plenty of flat edges for us to sit on. We sat side by side on our makeshift thrones and took a few minutes of quiet there, appreciating the scenery. In my mind, if the place had any sounds to hear it'd be windchimes, but in reality it was almost silent. Save for a quiet whistling as gentle wind blew through the gems.

“Can we live here?” I broke the quiet, hearing him chuckle in response. 

“Accidental house viewing?” He laughed. 

“It's so peaceful. What sort of healing properties is amethyst supposed to have?”

“You're asking me? I'm a man of science, my dear,” he nudged my side.

“I know you are, but it's interesting to think about, isn't it?” 

“It is. Whatever you believe in, there's no doubt this place is relaxing,” he took a deep, gentle breath and leaned back against another outcrop of rock. “Now, you said you had questions? I'm all ears, baby.” 

I nodded slowly, studying an edge of rock that had some traces of orange within it as I thought. 

“First of all, where would we live? As in, dimensions. I forget this all the time, but… we're from different dimensions, after all,” I pointed out, and Rick hummed in acknowledgement.

“Your dimension. We'd live in yours, in London. Unless you'd prefer somewhere else?” 

“But what about you? You can't just leave your family behind,” I looked up at him, my brow arching. He let out a breath and sat up, leaning close to me.

“Angel, don't forget, I have a portal gun. I can go and visit them instantly whenever I want, it'd be no different to living down the street; you don't have that luxury. And I'm not leaving them behind, my family is… is their own family. Honestly, I feel like I'm kind of intruding sometimes, living in their house,” he admitted with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. 

“I don't think they see it that way.”

“You know I've already talked to Beth about this. She's happy that I've found you and frankly, I think she's already planned what she's doing with my bedroom when I'm gone,” he snorted, flashing me a little grin. 

“You're really okay with that? What about Morty?” 

“Morty helps me out a lot, and it's useful having him around all the time. But, he's growing up. One day he'll probably go to college, or get a job, I can't expect him to drop everything to help me forever,” he admitted, scratching his goatee. “But, I have thought about him. I'm gonna make him a special portal gun, one that's just for travelling between our dimensions. That way he can visit whenever he likes.”

“Hmm,” the sound I made wasn't intended to be disapproving, but my face must've told him my inner worries far too accurately because he laughed. 

“Don't worry. It won't let him just portal into the house. He'll have to knock on the front door, so we won't get any surprises.”

“Oh, okay,” I smiled, relieved. 

“See? I've got it all figured out,” he tapped on the side of his head and nodded. 

“Of course you do,” I smirked. “But don't forget Tailor. What happens if two Ricks are living in the same dimension? Isn't there like… like a special law against that?”

Rick burst out into belly laughs, so suddenly he startled me. 

“I'm sorry baby, I'm not laughing at you. If- if you knew as many Ricks as–” he cut himself off with more laughter and I sighed, shoving him a little. 

“Spit it out!”

“Surely you know Tailor better than I do, and he… he's- you know he hooks up with other Ricks, right?”

“Yeah, he's been pretending he's not in a relationship with that Stylist from RickCon for months.” 

“Well, he's far from the only one. I know at least five Ricks who're living with themselves, and that's not even the ones I know from the Citadel,” he explained. “Trust me, there's no laws. We'll be fine.”

“Point taken,” I shrugged. “I didn't realise it was so common.”

“Oh, it's common,” he smirked. I eyed him for a long time, burning questions threatening to spill. 

“What about you?” I asked, unable to hold back.

“What about me?” He counter-questioned, straightening up.

“Have you ever… another Rick…” I murmured, going red in the face.

He stared at me for a while, blinking too often, his face hard to read. “What if I have?” 

“Well, I'd think that was fine. I mean, if I had a wealth of me's out there at the end of a portal gun I might've done the same,” I shrugged.

“In that case, hell yeah I have,” the wall of stoic broke and he grinned. 

“Really? Wow…” my lips curled into a small smile as a few images flitted through my mind. Rick caught my chin in his hand and turned my head to look at him. 

“Any further questions?” He smirked. 

“Oh, I could think of a few… but none about our living arrangements,” I mirrored his expression and he chuckled, before leaning in to kiss me. 

-

The moving process went surprisingly smoothly. I had lived in my childhood home my whole life, having never moved before, but Rick made sure that everything was accounted for and took care of almost everything. We found a nice house not too far from Tailor's studio, within walking distance, which would be useful since I was eager to continue working there. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open plan kitchen and living area with a generous garden and a basement level that worked well for Rick once he'd converted it into his lab. That had been an interesting weekend, the house was crawling with Ricks, since according to I.C they worked far more efficiently than any builders we could hire here on earth. Everything fell wonderfully into place, and while the house still looked pretty sparse in places, it didn't take us long to settle in. 

Gosh, it was wonderful. Just having him around whenever we were home, having dinner with him every single evening, curling up in bed with him every single night. We finally felt completely at ease when we were together, no distractions or interruptions, no nothing. Just each other's company. I thought my love for him had reached its peak, but living with him had proved me wrong and I quickly realised the space in my heart for him was infinite. Rick never hid his emotions or feelings, he never hesitated to tell me that he loved me, but it still didn't stop my heart from feeling like it was about to beat out of my chest whenever he said something open and honest. 

One night was especially touching, and nothing short of eventful. In the evenings we would sit in front of the TV together, and we'd developed a pretty terrible habit of sharing a tub of his ice cream. That night I hadn't been hungry enough, so he was eating alone. It was just as well, since half way down the tub Rick suddenly frowned, looking down into it with a puzzled look. 

“What's up?” I asked, catching his eye. He nodded towards the coffee table that I was sitting closest to and asked me to hand him the lid. 

“I just wanna check something,” he murmured. The tubs he kept his ice cream in were plain white with just a few letters written on the lid, signifying what was inside it. He knew what they all meant, not many other people did. He scanned the lid, his eyes widening a little. “Shit.”

“What?”

“Uhhh,” he sat up, putting the lid back on the tub and holding it out to me. “Could you, uh, put that back in the freezer for me?” I took it from him and he rubbed his hands over his face. 

“Are you okay?” I asked him, looking down at the lid and failing to make sense of the letters there. 

“I, uhh, I fucked up,” he said, letting out a sheepish laugh. “I can only apologise in advance for… for…” he trailed off, looking up at me with eyes that looked a little… off. “That ice cream was highly alcoholic. I picked up the wrong one, and I really shouldn't have eaten half a tub.”

His words were beginning to slur a little.

“You didn't realise? Does it not taste bitter?” I questioned, peeling the lid off and having a sniff. It didn't smell like alcohol. 

“Well no, as a rule I don't like adding normal booze into ice cream without processing it a bunch, it makes it too soft. This has alien alcohol in it, which doesn't taste bitter and it- it takes a while to kick in but _hooo_ when it does,” he snickered, slumping back against the sofa. “Like a freight train, baby.” 

“Shit, are you okay? It's not dangerous, is it?”

“Only if you let me climb up on the roof, or, or play with knives,” he laughed again. I certainly wasn't seeing the funny side. 

“Rick, you never drink! I've never seen you drunk before.”

“Get ready, sweetheart, I'm getting there.” He tried to push himself up from the sofa and failed. “Fuck, this- this is why I stay away from the shit.”

“Oh god, just stay there. I'll get you some water.” 

With a sigh I hurried to the kitchen, putting the ice cream in the freezer and filling up a tall glass with water. When I returned he was still on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I remember this, the room going ‘round in circles. Ugh.” 

“Here, have a drink,” He lifted his head and reached for the glass, his hand missing completely on the first try. “Oh, Christ,” I muttered.

Rick held the glass with both hands and took a drink, then handed it back to me. I placed it down on the coffee table and sat back down next to him, watching him in concern. 

“I-I-I’m fine, don't look so worried,” he laughed, words really melting together now. 

“I am worried. This is hitting so fast,” I gnawed on my bottom lip. He brought his hand down on my knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Tha's what it does, baby. I'm fine,” he drew out the last word, shaking his head from side to side. I continued to stare at him as he rolled his head back against the sofa, looking at me with this dizzy smile. “God, you're beautiful.”

I wasn't expecting him to say that, and I raised my brows in surprise. 

“I would make love to you, but since there's two of you I wouldn't want to leave one of you out,” he snickered, hoisting himself forwards and draping his body over mine in a loose hug.

“Are you joking, or are you actually seeing double?” I questioned, holding onto him carefully, frozen by worry. 

“I'm joking,” he turned his head and mumbled into my neck. “Relax, beautiful,” he kissed my neck once. 

“Maybe you should go and lay down, sleep through this,” I suggested. He used my shoulder to push himself up and steady himself. He was blinking slowly, one eye out of time with the other, squinting. Bloody hell, he looked liked he'd spent all day in a brewery. 

“You're looking after me, aren't y-you adorable? I-I'll be fine.”

“So you keep saying, but I don't like seeing you like this and I think sleeping will be best for you,” I sighed, stroking his cheek and pushing his hair out of his face for him.

“You're an angel, you know that? So sweet and c-caring. Always thinking about me, l-let's go, hmm?” 

“Yeah? You wanna go to bed?” 

Rick nodded and wiped some drool away from the corner of his mouth. “I gotta- gotta brush my teeth,” he went to stand up, falling right back down again.

“Yeah… you should, but I don't know if…” I stood up and held my hands out for him to grab onto. “One night won't kill you, I'm not sure if you'll manage.” 

“What if they all fall out?” He laughed, finally getting to his feet, though he was extremely unsteady. I had to use all of my strength to keep him upright, guiding him over to the stairs.

“They won't… look, why don't you crawl up the stairs?” 

Rick slumped onto his hands and knees at the staircase, laughing away to himself. 

“Fuck! I am _trashed_ , aren't I?” He exclaimed, dragging himself up the stairs, my hands ready to grab him if he started to slide. “I ne-need to stop selling that shit, it's inhumane to put a man through this,” he cackled.

“I bet other Ricks can handle this. You aren't used to it,” I sighed. 

“You ca-callin’ me a lightweight? Coz that- that's exactly what I am,” he snorted loudly. I cracked a little smile. 

We managed to get him up the stairs, and he didn't bother rising to his feet once we reached the top. He crawled his way to our bedroom, banging his head on the door and simultaneously opening it with his head. He grunted and rubbed at his skull.

“Be careful, oh my god, Rick,” I whined, opening the door the rest of the way and flicking the light on. He simply laughed in response. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, didn't feel a thing,” he slurred, carrying on and dragging himself onto the bed. I helped him up, lifting his legs up onto the mattress. He groaned and rolled onto his back, splaying out across the whole bed. I sighed and rubbed the top of his head, wincing. He hummed pleasantly, smiling up at me. 

“I am so glad you don't drink, it's like having a toddler,” with a sigh, I reached for his shirt buttons and started to undo them. He made a saucy little sound and wiggled his brows at me. “Calm down, I'm just getting you down to your undies. You don't wanna sleep in your clothes,” I tutted. 

He helped me get his shirt off and then I went for his pants, undoing his fly and tugging them down his legs, leaving him in his socks and his boxers. I folded the duvet over him, not bothering to try and pull the rest out from under him. 

“Do I need to get a bucket?”

“What for?”

“In case you feel ill,” I said, thinking it was obvious.

“I don't feel sick, I'm fine,” he shrugged. 

“I'll get one just in case,” I sighed, sitting down next to him and stroking his hair. I wasn't ready to leave him just yet, I'd wait until he was properly settled down. I felt the need to keep my eye on him, he looked incredibly vulnerable; unable to hold himself up or get himself around. 

Rick took my hand in his, pulling it away from his head and bringing it to his mouth. He kissed my fingertips sloppily, chuckling quietly and sighing, closing his eyes. I thought he looked incredibly sweet, despite being so intoxicated. I smiled, very nearly prying my hand from him so I could get up, but he kept me there with his next words. 

“Mm, I'm gonna make you my wife one day.” 

My heart damn near stopped. My face dropped. Not because I was unhappy about what he'd said, but because of how much it shocked me. We were in love, we'd moved in together, and we were serious about each other; but the words husband or wife had never really crossed my mind. 

“You are?” I responded quietly, gripping his hand as he dropped it to the bed, letting my thumb run over the back of his hand. 

“Mhm, one day,” he nodded, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes. 

I didn't think too much into it. He was absolutely hammered, out of it, not thinking straight. But, his words still meant the world to me, I knew there was at least some sincerity behind them, even if it just meant how much he cared for me. The idea of becoming his wife was something that I could definitely, definitely get used to. But I put it away in the back of my mind with a smile, deciding that whatever happened, as long as I was his, I was happy. 

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple, and then left him – only briefly – to prepare for the no doubt sleepless night I'd have watching over him. I could only hope that the morning hangover would treat him kindly…


End file.
